In A Tee Shirt Tourniquet
by Gragagagagagagaga
Summary: Destroyed illusions make disillusioned men. Sequal to LAAIACD. Inexplicably fluffy. Go figure.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Warnings: This is a sequel to Like an Arm In A Car Door. It you didn't read that, you WILL be confused by this. If you skip the warnings, go right into the story, are confused at any point in time, and then bitch at me--you are a fucking moron. I will tell you off. Then I will block you.

Readers of LAAIACD, I hope that you enjoy this. If you find any errors or have any suggestions, thoughts, or comments feel free to let me know. I love feedback and I aim to please.

I don't really feel the need to put warnings in here. If you stuck with me through LAAIACD then you aren't shy, squeamish, prudish, green, or otherwise easily offended. All of the old warnings may possibly apply with the addition of gay sex (which will be so hot that you'll need brillow to scrub whatever your sitting on clean), pedophilia (which will be just as hot….if you are a complete fucking creeper), and SEVERE angst.

* * *

"Joker."

…

"Joker?"

…

…

The voice was not hers.

_John _

And yet she was all that he could see.

Bruce sighed as his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He had been so certain that the other man would wake. While logic told him that it would perhaps be better if he never opened his eyes, he could not help but hope. With the psychological and physical damage heaped upon the already raving maniac, catastrophe was guaranteed. Uncertainty was guaranteed. In the depths of night he had managed to convince himself that it would have been mercy to kill him. He had come close several times. He had come within inches of smothering, strangling, and injecting the unconscious criminal with poison. The hapless, helpless man lay in a foreign country, wading through turbulent dreams and awaiting untold misery, and entirely at his mercy.

Bruce stayed by his side night and day. He was flooded with hatred when the joker cackled, a harsh and maniacal sound he remembered all too well. The ghost of violence burned through the bat's veins. Vengeance was his. Gotham's vengeance was at hand.

But just as often and even sometimes in the midst of his harrowing chortles an even more terrifying thing would occur--he would cry.

Tears would roll down his face and his frail body would be wracked with spasms. He would cry out to imagined abusers for the torture to end. He would sing sad praises of his tormenter. The agonies he spoke of were numerous and often turned Bruce's stomach. A piece of him cried with his charge. A part of him died as any doubt he had that people were capable of such atrocities evaporated.

Bruce inwardly cursed as he realized that he was holding his phone in his hand and it had stopped ringing. As Alfred was the only one with this particular number, he knew that it would be only seconds before he called back. He grudgingly left the hospital room for a white hallway. It was empty and line with identical white doors. His phone began vibrating again and he abruptly pressed it to his ear.

"Hello."

"Master Wayne, will you please at least tell me where you have gone?"

Alfred had been harping at him ever since he had arrived to tell him where he had gone to and Bruce could not bring himself to tell him. Not only was he forbidden by the most powerful drug lord in Brazil to ever speak of his true location, but he had a sinking feeling that telling Alfred that he had murdered the Joker's mother, paid Amilcar Magalhães to spirit them away to his private Brazilian medical facility funded entirely with drug money, and was now singlehandedly caring for the joker as Magalhães' favored guest would have unfavorable consequences. In fact, he had never been so ashamed of himself in his entire life. He often contemplated how far he had fallen and how disappointed Alfred would be if he knew.

"Master Wayne!"

"Sorry Alfred, but I just need to be alone. I need to get away. There's no need to worry."

"You've been gone almost three weeks, sir. I don't know what's become of you or of the Joker and his foul bitch of a-"

"Please. Don't. It's all been taken care of-"

"I will not deny that I am simply dying to know, sir."

"Alfred. I just can't I'm-"

"Senhor! Senhor!" Bruce looked behind him to see a young Spanish nurse peering frantically out of the doorway. She cried frantically in Portuguese but Bruce could not understand.

"Is that Spanish I hear? Master Wayne! Bruce!"

Bruce disconnected and followed the young woman into the hospital room. His heart pounded as she gesticulated wildly at the sleeping joker. His grey skin glinted sickeningly in the afternoon light. His cheeks hollowed even further and his lips were pulled taut as he croaked pathetically. His matted hair had been shaved away, leaving a lightly furred head almost entirely bandaged. His skeletal hands twitched and Bruce nearly fainted as his dark eyes cracked open, one at a time.


	2. Chapter 2

"Senhor, que você quer-me fazer? Está acordando! Está acordando! Meu deus! O diabo de sono desperta-"

Bruce could barely discern the nurse's frantic Portuguese. He could only make out the word "sir" and "devil" . His hands twitched. He wholeheartedly agreed. His jaw was set so tightly it seemed ready to fissure and crack as those unfocused doe eyes rolled about in that grotesque shrunken head. The second focus and life began to laboriously work their way through the blue veins which mapped twisted grids beneath the criminal's waxen skin Bruce blanched nearly as white. With every passing second more and more of the joker he remembered returned. Bruce immediately ordered to have him restrained, though he knew full well that in his current state the joker could probably not even contemplate movement let alone attempt it. He was injured and pumped so full of drugs that Magalhães could have marketed his blood for a good profit.

When the Joker was in--what could never be described as--full working order he was unpredictable, dangerous, manic-depressive, and explosive. A joker who had suffered untold damage for the second time in his life and was intoxicated was utterly incomprehensible. Bruce's body tensed, reflexively prepared for a fight as a hint of a smirk returned to that scarred, cruel mouth. A lupine flash of yellow teeth appeared and his eyes darkened to black. Bruce prepared himself as his nemesis reemerged from unconscious, seemingly untouched. As he steeled himself for a battle of wits with a man delirious from pain, opium, and torture--

"Why?" There was no demoniac malice. There was none of the disarming, childlike curiosity. There was no accusation nor anger. There was no inflection. Bruce looked blankly into the emotionless eyes of a corpse. His throat went dry.

"Why?" His words dissipated in the air like smoke and clung to Bruce's skin with the same poignancy. He was not demanding an answer. He did not dare and as he bowed his head in deference Bruce's gut clenched. In a characteristic gesture the joker's wicked tongue slithered out of his mouth and scraped against his stained teeth and cavernous lips.

"I-I…you are in Brazil?" It came out so pathetically weak and Bruce felt foolish. From the caged, confused look in the Joker's eyes he couldn't tell if the man was beyond words, or if he didn't know what he meant. He assumed the latter for the sake of perfunctory conversation as the nurse buzzed about taking her patient's vitals. He had absolutely no idea what to say.

"It's a country in South America."

The Joker squeaked as he tried to wrap his head around that. From the dark and frustrated look in his eyes, he couldn't even begin to.

"It's the biggest one- in South America, I mean." Bruce nearly slapped himself in the face as the Joker began to shake violently. While he knew that the geography of Latin America was an inane discussion and a moot point at the moment, he didn't personally find it all that upsetting.

"Just tell me!" He begged and tears began to pearl in the corners of his eyes. He looked like a child. Bruce unconsciously inched closer.

"What do you want to know?" He asked with all the delicacy of one approaching a wild animal. The closer he came the more wild pleas and tears burst from the quaking psychotic.

"I can't give you-" Bruce did not hear the end of his statement as the nurse screamed something at him before forcing him from the room. He reluctantly watched as the door was slammed in his face. The cries he heard from within tore at him as he strode down the hall.

* * *

andaere: Thanks! It really fills me with glee that you enjoyed it as you were one of my most loyal reviewers last time. I love Alfred too and short little chapters are generally just my writing style. Some will be longer when more starts happening though. My sex scenes are generally pretty epic in length. The one I have in my other fic is one of my longest chapters.

Ladyvader 169: Great to hear from ya again. And if you guys aren't careful all of these compliments will go to my head. ^^ This one will be even more addicting then the last as it's a novel length angsty romance and those hook you faster than heroin. lol.

haggy mcphee: Thanks! And, don't worry, I've had about eight people tell me that they're just like me since I started writing on here. I am not exactly sure whether that's a good or a bad thing, but it was certainly unexpected. I mean, how many dead-flowerchild, bisexual, manic-depressive, disillusioned, nude, witchy, circuitous, and superfluous tortured artists does one expect to meet in a lifetime? I am thinking of starting a guild for us all. Thanks for the review. ;)

AN: Forgive my bad Portuguese. My fellow Americans don't even accept my English.


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce had been deep in an untroubled sleep when he was awakened by the acrid tang of cigarette smoke. He knew that only one man would have the nerve to smoke in a hospital, and quickly discerned that he was in no danger. He slowly opened his eyes and all the aches and pains that came with sleeping in a chair assaulted him.

"Fuck." He groaned as his calf muscle began to twist and cramp. He quickly pulled a few Tylenol out of his pocket and dry swallowed them, as per his usual morning routine. He then crouched over and began to manipulate his twitching muscle. In mere minutes he had soothed out the cramp, leaving only a dull ache behind. He couldn't wait for the Tylenol to kick in.

"You know that we have stronger things than Tylenol here." Bruce looked up to see Amilcar Magalhães sitting in a chair across the small room. He was a man of average height with delicately tanned skin and short dark hair. He was dressed casually and his legs were crossed. One thin hand dangled over the side of the chair holding a steadily smoking cigarette. His English was nearly perfect, with only the slightest accent. "After all, this is a hospital." Bruce rubbed all lingering sleep from his eyes, before noticing that it was dark outside, the only light provided by several gaudy and yellow lamps.

"What time is it?" His voice was gruff.

"Three-thirty on the morning. You fell asleep in the evening." Amilcar smiled at Bruce's obvious consternation. "But, you have not slept in almost three days. What else can one expect?" Bruce grunted and reached over to where he had left his can of coke the night before. He grabbed it and grunted again upon finding it empty.

"Why do you stay here, with him?" Amilcar asked as he pressed the cigarette to his lips. Bruce remained silent. "I know that part of our deal was that I not demand answers, but I must admit that I am…curioso." He inhaled deeply and Bruce folded his hands in his lap. "I mean, how comes it to be that Bruce Wayne; one of the single richest, most equitable, and most powerful men on earth, ends up fleeing the country with the likes of him?" Bruce said nothing. "There must be some history, as you have hardly left his side."

"I believe that the three million I paid should satisfy your curiosity." Bruce said with a small yawn and Amilcar sighed.

"Will you at least tell me how you know of me?" He asked and Bruce shook his head. Amilcar looked as if he was about to speak when suddenly his face paled. "Very well then. Have a good day, Mr. Wayne." He finished with a slight nod before practically bolting from the room. He dropped his cigarette.

"I wonder what's gotten into him." Bruce said aloud as he bent to retrieve it. He walked over to the trashcan. "Maybe he was testing out the merchandise." Bruce snorted at his own joke as he moved to toss the offending cigarette away.

"Stop."

He froze as a small voice echoed throughout the room. He turned his head to see the Joker curled up against the headboard of his bed. His head and arms rested on his knees. "What's that?" He asked with childlike curiosity, his hands virtually twitching beneath his cocked head.

"This?" Bruce asked and moved the cigarette slightly. The tip of it turned to ash and fell into the trashcan. The Joker nodded stiffly.

"It's a cigarette." Bruce couldn't believe it. How could he not know what a cigarette was? The Joker immediately seemed to take his disbelieving stare personally.

"I'm sorry. You can burn me with it if you want."

Bruce's eyes widened exponentially as the joker held out his arms as if they were an offering. There was absolutely no emotion in his voice.

"Umm, no thanks. I'm good." Bruce said and the Joker looked at him strangely.

"Aren't you going to…" The Joker trailed off, biting his lips. Bruce dropped the cigarette into the trashcan and delicately began to advance.

"What?" He asked softly and the Joker raised his head.

"…punish me?" The words barely escaped his lips, but they were rife with so much misery that Bruce could not help but drop every pretense he had constructed. He walked forward quickly and the Joker curled in upon himself and started to shake.

"Look at me." Bruce commanded and before he had time to regret the sharp edge his voice had taken the Joker's head and eyes turned up to meet him. Rather than being satisfied by the criminal's obedience, he was disturbed by it. However, he saw an opportunity and he would be damned if he wasn't going to take advantage of it.

"There are only two things for which you will ever be punished for." He said and watched as the criminal's eyes widened and jaw unhinged. He simply couldn't believe it. "Hurting yourself. Or Hurting anyone else."

"So…" The Joker licked his lips. "Unless I am…_violent_…you won't be?"

"I don't want to hurt you John."

The Joker's eyes widened impossibly.

"That is your name isn't it, John?"

"It was…once." He croaked and wrapped his arms around himself. Bruce watched awkwardly as he started to cry. He wanted to reach out and offer comfort to John, but at the same time had absolutely no idea how to react toward the joker.

"My name was Jonathan Edward Haydn." The Joker's eyes were red, but otherwise his face was entirely blank.

"Your name is Jonathan Edward Haydn." Bruce assured him and the Joker licked his lips nervously.

"Are you going to take care of me?" He asked after a long silence and something in Bruce's gut clenched painfully.

"As long as you are good." He said, completely masking his disgust at his own words. His shock at the night's proceedings was not even in the realm of the sheer incredulity at what happened next. It was an occurrence he had never seen before and found that he would not mind seeing again.

John smiled.

And it was entirely devoid of rage, dolor, or mania.

It was genuine and small, not a grotesque extension of his gruesome scars--but almost shining with an understated light. It was an extension of his heart.

"I can do that." He said.

* * *

Rugbywing: Thanks so much! I myself, am also quite a fan of twisted. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce heard crying and frantic Portuguese as he stepped out of the elevator and onto the appropriate floor. He silently berated himself and further fisted the bags in his hands. He had purposefully left in the early morning as he knew the Joker's habit of sleeping in. The man, much like himself, was a bit of a night owl. Over the last few days Bruce had noticed the look of utter terror that would cross John's face every time he left the room. He obviously did not believe his promises to return, despite their sincerity. He figured that by leaving early enough he would arrive before John awoke and avoid tribulation entirely. He hoped he would completely obliterate any chance of seeing that abjectly broken look in John's eyes.

His thought immediately turned to what horrible things The Joker was doing to the unsuspecting nurse. His nostrils flared, his heart began to race, and the bags he had been holding so tightly fell to the floor. He raced toward the door, geared for battle as he came to it and pulled it open with such strength that he nearly ripped it off its hinges. The sight that greeted him was far from expected.

The joker sat up in his bed, his impossibly thin legs folded gracefully and his head buried in his knees.

"Ele não volta!" He cried miserably as the nurse looked at him warily from across the room.

"Ele sempre faz." She argued. While Bruce hadn't a clue what they were saying, it was obvious that they had probably had that exact conversation countless times. The impatience in her voice was palpable.

"Mas ele não vai a desta vez! Ninguém jamais me toleraria para muito tempo!" He argued as he shook his head against his knees. When the nurse looked up at Bruce he suddenly understood exactly what their conversation was about.

"O olhar, ele voltou outra vez. Como eu disse, ele sempre irá." She then pointed in his direction and John raised his head. In an instant he was sitting normally and his voice was perfectly even, despite the tears which still streamed down his face. Bruce then berated himself for being overly suspicious.

"Oi!" He said brightly and Bruce barely cocked his head to the side. "Como é?"

"Hello to you too." Bruce said with a little smile and John began speaking in an exuberant whirlwind of rapid fire Portuguese. The nurse then walked in front of him.

"He is telling you of his big morning." She said sardonically. Her accent was thick and she bit her lip as she fished for the proper English words. "He put his pillowcase on his head, as a hat…and had the cheerios for the first time. He almost got one stuck up his…" She sighed and gestured toward her nose. She shook her head in disbelief as she exited the room. John was still going on with the gusto of a child so Bruce sat beside his bed and waited for him to finish. Eventually his Portuguese petered out into full blown English and he collapsed against his bed, exhausted. He then rolled over onto his side to face Bruce.

"It was fun!" He whispered and Bruce chuckled. The simple wonder this caused John only served to worry Bruce more than before. He wondered exactly what the poor man's actual childhood must have been like. His thoughts turned darker and darker. Countless horrors damasked in blood played in the corners of his mind, only to be interrupted by the sound of a throat being cleared. He returned to his present to find John looking up at him nervously.

"Did I do something wrong?" He asked and Bruce did his best to regain a nonthreatening expression.

"I was just wondering how you learned to speak Portuguese." He said and John frowned.

"Is that bad?"

"No!" Bruce said emphatically. "I, myself, have always wanted to learn another language."

"Really? I learned some from listening to the nurses. They have long conversations when they think I'm asleep, all though only two of them will talk to me." He said sadly and Bruce reached out and placed a hand on his arm to lend him some comfort. John looked up and into his eyes.

"Where did you go this morning?" He asked quietly and all of the sudden the door opened and a nurse entered carrying the bags he had dropped. She left them at the door with only a brief, muddled explanation before exiting.

"She said that a doctor saw you drop them in the hall." John replied and Bruce grabbed the bags with a small grin. He artfully his worry. After seeing that John knew nothing of basic geography or even everyday things such as cigarettes, he wondered what other knowledge he had been deprived of. As there were no records which indicated that he had ever gone to school, Bruce doubted that he had received a basic education.

And while he was heartened by the ease with which John picked up Portuguese, and knew from personal experience that he was indeed deeply intelligent, he wondered if he could understand basic math, read, or even write his own name in English. He hoped that learning these things might help John mend psychologically-make him feel more like a person. He also hoped that if he was indeed capable of these simple things, then he would not be offended by his question.

"Can you read?"

John remained silent for a long while. His face paled and his eyes misted with memory. "A little." He said and Bruce slowly pulled one of the random English books he had been able to procure at the market place out of one of his bags.

"A book." John said flatly as he took the thing into his hands, upside down, and began to scour its pages. "You want to teach me to read?" He asked, one of his hands tangling thoughtfully in his quickly growing hair.

Bruce nodded. John thoughtfully nibbled on his lip before scooting over on the bed and holding out the book. When Bruce reached for it he pulled it back and shyly patted the bed beside him. Bruce was careful to maintain his distance as he stiffly sat on the bed, only to have John virtually stretch himself out on his lap as languorously as a cat. He couldn't help but relax into the light embrace as the smaller man rested his head against his chest.

"Read to me?" John asked.

Bruce obliged.


	5. Chapter 5

Bruce could not help but notice the almost healthy glow that John had started to exhibit as he expertly sped through the only English children's' books he had been able to find in the city. It was an old, battered, and incomplete set of picture books featuring a family of ducks who travelled the world causing mayhem. The story was fragmented and insubstantial and the art was minutely colorful and simple. Bruce had been frustrated by them and had doubted that John would have enjoyed them in the slightest.

Contrary to Bruce's beliefs, the old and juvenile set had captured the younger man. "Are they mine?" He had asked and when Bruce assured him that the books were, indeed, his; the extent of his recovery became apparent. He sprang from his bed and landed happily on the floor, where he rifled through them with all of the enthusiasm of a child. He had picked one at random (a particularly thick volume with a picture of Notre Dame on the cover) and held it out.

"I'd like to try this one first." He said as he made his way back to the bed. "The building on the cover is beautiful."

"That's Notre Dame." Bruce had supplied and John peered at him inquisitively, cocked his head to the side, and put his tongue between his teeth. Bruce had come to know this as his 'What the fuck are you talking about?' look.

"It's a famous church in France."

"That's a church? Seriously?" John looked at the painted cathedral with palpable skepticism. He shook his head. "Doesn't make much sense for a religion that's all about humility to be preached from a castle does it?"

Bruce chuckled as he sat beside him and opened the book to the first page. "Not really." He agreed and started John on the very first sentence.

Time had blurred and lost all meaning. Bruce was not exactly sure how long ago that first lesson had occurred, but he did know that in almost no time at all John was reading the books, as well as any English pamphlets, magazines, nametags, or labels he came across almost perfectly.

"You're not paying any attention are you?"

Bruce was brought back to the present by a soft tap on the shoulder from a rather bemused looking John. He looked to see that he sat directly in front of him. Their knees touched and he held a small copy of "The Hobbit" in his hands. While he knew well that the younger man had been able to read a minimal amount before their lessons had started he was still floored by his improvement. He also knew that soon he would have absolutely no excuse to keep him in the hospital. This caused him more worry than he cared to admit.

"Is something bothering you?" John asked quietly, obviously uncertain of whether he was overstepping his bounds. "Would you want to…tell me about it?" Bruce remained silent. He knew that if he told John that the thought of being with him in an unsupervised space for an extended period of time had him biting his nails down past their cuticles the man would take it personally--who wouldn't? He also knew that if he refused to tell him the man would also take it personally. Either way, upsetting him was inevitable. And while ,intellectually, Bruce knew that it was important to see how he reacted to disappointment before he even considered taking him out of the hospital, the last thing in the world that he wanted to do was cause him anymore pain.

"How about a deal, then?" Bruce watched as John gingerly closed the book and placed it beside him on the bed. John licked his lips nervously. "If you tell me what's bothering you, I'll tell you something that's been on my mind." He was nearly quaking with nerves as Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder. He nodded and took a while to gather his thoughts.

"I have bought a house in São Paulo," He began and John virtually wilted, automatically assuming that he was going to be abandoned. "And I want you to come with me." John's eyes widened almost comically. "But I have some doubts. You see, because of all that you did…I know what you are capable of. I know that once someone has done something once, it is likely that they will do it again." John was on the verge of hyperventilating. Bruce was hardly breathing. "And I don't know if I can trust you."

Bruce cringed and wrung his hands as all color disappeared from the smaller man's face. Anger flared in his deep brown eyes. "So, what are you going to do with me then!?" He growled and the familiar inflection had every last hair on Bruce's head standing on end. He watched John's every move beneath lowered lashes. The man's chest was inflating and deflating so rapidly with breath that Bruce was certain that he was either about to have another psychotic episode or pass out.

"Take you with me." He said quietly and sprang from the bed as John's eyes rolled up into his head. While John did not fall to the floor, he nearly collapsed against his protector.

"Bastard!" He cried softly over and over again as he was ushered back into his bed. His cries were eventually stifled by exhaustion. Bruce took his hand to feel the pulse in his wrist only to find the slender, bloodless hand wrapped tightly around his own. "I thought-"

"I know what you thought." Bruce snapped and John winced.

"I'm sorry." He said at last, a thin lip taken between his teeth. Bruce could see the self-pity building to almost agonizing levels behind John's eyes and immediately sought a distraction.

"So, what's been on your mind then?" He asked weakly and John looked at him questioningly even as his eyes closed of their own volition. "A deal's a deal." He said with a dry smile and one corner of John's lips upturned with amusement.

"Your name." He said through a yawn as he fought like a wayward child against the seductive embrace of sleep.

"What about it?"

"I want to know it."

Even as he conceded it Bruce felt as if the information was being torn unwillingly from his throat.

"Bruce." He said at last and John chuckled weakly.

"Goodnight Bruce." He said as at last his eyes closed.

'Good night'. Bruce mouthed back.

It was three in the afternoon.

Bruce looked down warily at the hand that still held tightly to his own and gingerly unknotted their fingers. He was unaware of that myriad plans to prove himself which spun in John's head as he left in search of decent food to surprise him with when he awoke.

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Jess: Thanks so much! Apparently being a grammar Nazi pays off. You don't even know how angry I get by all of the stories that are "not quite as well done" ;) . Glad I made your day, I aim to please.

ladyvader169: Thanks for the PM! Happy to hear from you as I haven't in a while. Glad my work is engaging. According to my creative writing teacher the "objective of all artists is to coalesce the human spirit" or something. I don't know if I've exactly 'coalesced your spirit' but it makes me happy to know that you are feeling my story.


	6. Chapter 6

The media had long since recovered from the Joker's disappearance. At first it had, had people terrified (several talk show hosts had talked about putting the country on some kind of alert at the time and many had agreed); but after so many months and a definite absence of mass chaos, explosions, gruesome murder, or any misery greater than the usual the fear had faded. The investigations into the inadequacies of Arkham had turned to punch lines and the mass outrage at the Joker's escape to laughter (when he was even considered at all). These stories had of course been replaced by gossip surrounding the disappearance of Bruce Wayne.

Alfred sighed, trying not to laugh at the Saturday Night Live sketch showing how all of the girls Bruce scorned over the years got together and decided to get even. It was incredibly funny, as the gaggle of gold diggers was decked out in incredibly fake jewelry and every last one was incredibly stupid. However, It was not long before Alfred's mind turned back to the real Bruce. As a last resort Alfred had checked every last villa, house, and mansion that Bruce owned around the world. He had called and in every last one and all he had learned was that young man was not in Japan, Corsica, Thailand, Tahiti, the UK or California. None of the man's accounts so much as pointed to a recent withdrawal. In fact, Bruce had not spent a dollar in any of his traceable accounts in months. This worried Alfred more than anything.

* * *

"Come to bed."

Commissioner Gordon looked up from the TV to the staircase, where his wife stood dressed in only a robe, her arms folded beneath her breasts. "You've been like a zombie all day. Come to bed. Get some sleep." She muttered as she yawned and rested her weight against the wall.

Gordon replied by turning his attention back to the TV. It was not that he took particular pleasure in Saturday Night Live, or in their usually insipid sketches, but this one happened to be about Bruce Wayne and he thought that maybe approaching the man in a new way might give him some leads. He grunted as he flipped the channel and came upon an episode of David Letterman. Letterman actually had a clinical psychologist on the show, who in all likelihood had never met Bruce Wayne, analyzing him. Gordon hit himself in the head with his remote.

"Jim-"

"I'll be up in a minute." He muttered without even turning around and Diane slinked back upstairs.

"Well, I would say that Bruce Wayne is a deeply secretive human being." Said the quack and Letterman folded his hands.

"Oh really?" Obvious sarcasm from Letterman. Go figure.

"Yes, think about it. What do we know about him?"

Gordon began to make a mental list. He's obscenely wealthy, young, attractive, gives a lot to charity, a nice-enough-guy, and a bit of a womanizer.

He watched as Letterman reiterated the same exact list.

The Quack smiled knowingly. "But, what do we know about him as a person?" Now Gordon was interested. "What are his likes, dislikes? What are his plans for the future? What does he do on Friday nights?"

"Indulge in a few of his pretty blonde friends?" The sound guy started playing Gold Digger in the background and the audience burst out into appreciative laughter and applause.

"It is actually quite the opposite. I have talked to thirty odd of the girls he has taken out on dates so far this year. Only one of them said that they had sex, and that he was drunk at the time.

Even Letterman couldn't play off this intelligence and hide his surprise. "So, you are saying that he picks up beautiful young girls, wines them, dines them, and then sends them back home without so much as a handshake?"

"Essentially. And many of these girls are notorious for sleeping with anyone and everyone--except Bruce Wayne."

"Maybe he's just waiting for true love." Letterman said facetiously and the quack scoffed.

"The man buys hotels and restaurants in the same way that most people buy packs of gum. Does this sound like a man of temperance who would wait for true love-"

"So you are saying that he's a homosexual then?" Letterman interrupted. "After all, he does always seem to have some interesting new bruise or scrape." Letterman leered and the quack looked decidedly uncomfortable. The audience chuckled and suddenly catharsis struck Gordon with the force of a runaway train.

"…not necessarily. The Bruce Wayne we all know is most likely just a mask he felt he had to maintain-" Gordon threw a coat over his pajamas, clicked off the TV, and ran over to the precinct to start running files and doing research.

* * *

Gordon awoke the following morning slung haphazardly on the office chair behind his desk. He jolted into consciousness and nearly fell to the floor, the offending ringing telephone serving as an impromptu alarm. He ignored it and immediately turned to his research.

Time and time again the photos had proven it. If Batman was ever injured, Bruce Wayne would either be out of commission for a few days or turn up with the exact same injuries. It almost made perfect sense. Bruce Wayne had no job, and infinite supply of dough, and no loved ones. He had all of the time, all of the resources, and nothing to lose. Without a word to anyone Gordon disappeared to Wayne's mansion. If Bruce Wayne was Batman, it meant that he had the Joker hidden in a secret location. Gordon simply had to find them both.

* * *

ladyvader169: I don't abandon my stories. It might take me a while to update, but I finish everything I start. Thanks again. It really makes me happy to know that my work is appreciated, as I put a lot of effort into it. Btw, why do you review in PM's? It's not that I have a problem with it, I'm just curious as no one ever has before.

Kat: Honestly, I've never seen the cell. I have been contemplating getting corset piercings myself. As a relentless pessimist, I thought of all of the bad things that could happen should I ever get them and my musings spun way out of control. That's where the idea came from. And as to your other question, think of it this way: When I was one or two I pushed my baby sister out of her high chair because she annoyed me. I had the anger and the passion, but not the restraint or the wherewithal to know how to direct it or the consequences of my actions. That is where John is and always has been emotionally as far as I see it. Instead now, his deep-seated anger has petered out and he's been destroyed. Since he's pretty much been razed, Brucey can now rebuild him. Kind of like how you level ground before building a parking garage.

Jess: Thanks! And as Ellen DeGeneres says "Don't wait to procrastinate! Do it now!" I have that problem too. I put everything off.

AN: GO SEE WATCHMEN RIGHT NOW! IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE! (Ok, not really, but its fucking amazing).


	7. Chapter 7

He had never thought that he might actually consider doing something like this of his own free will. He had heard the nurse's speaking of it, and neither seemed to particularly enjoy doing it. However, they did mention how much their men adored it. He had been contemplating it for a while, as well as a mental list of what he could do to repay Bruce. Unfortunately, there was nothing else on the mental list. He had absolutely nothing to give and was of no use to anyone. He felt that he was a terrible burden, and while at first he was not sure if one man could do something like that to another, he had worked out the logistics of it and quickly came to believe that it was possible. Also, he felt that it was all he had to give.

Bruce taught him, Bruce fed him, Bruce held him when he cried. He spoke to him kindly and treated him in a way that no one else ever had. He was endlessly patient with him. John understood very well that Bruce was the one responsible for his care. He knew that without him he would be…

John shuddered even thinking about _her. _

He wanted desperately to give his champion something in return. The only problem was that he had absolutely nothing. The only thing he had, needless to say, he was not certain would exactly be to Bruce's taste. John remembered the unease with which he used to touch him. He remembered how awkward and stiff the man had been. Even though this diffident and at times cold behavior had been replaced by sincere smiles and friendly affection, John was still ill at ease. After all, he had absolutely no idea what kind of boundaries existed in whatever kind of association they had.

However, he did not know how else Bruce would derive any sort recompense for his pains. And after all, if there was anything that he could do correctly, it was read people.

Drawing upon his impulsive nature, John softly crept from his bed, making hardly a sound as he made his way toward his slumbering companion. He padded softly across the cool and tiled hospital floor before coming to stand before the chair on which Bruce slept. The man was sprawled out awkwardly, his muscular arms almost falling off of the arms of his chair and his legs sprawled out across the floor. John kneeled in between them.

He froze as Bruce shifted momentarily in his sleep. The mans thigh almost touched the side of his face from where he knelt. He momentarily hoped that Bruce's habit of living on coffee and little sleep had led to such an advanced state of exhaustion that he would not wake at all. With thin, pallid, and quaking hands he reached up to undo the fly of the other man's slacks.

He slowly unzipped the zipper, in order to make the minimal amount of noise, revealing a trail of dark hair at an uneven pace. He bit his lip nervously as he ghosted the very tips of his fingers along the trail before him, eventually sliding his palm inside and angling it so it cupped Bruce's member. He felt the weight of it in his hand and his eyes widened. While not a succinct judge on these matters, John knew that he would not be able to fit _all_ of that in his mouth.

He slowly worked Bruce's cock out of its confines and gently rand his fingers along it, from head to root. The little groan he received from the sleeping Bruce was definite encouragement. He applied more pressure and felt the organ start to thicken in his hands. With a nervous chuckle he bent down and flicked out his tongue to taste the very tip. He softly growled his approval as his eyes widened and in a cacophonous moment of insanity spread his lips. He swallowed Bruce whole.

In Bruce's unconscious and sleep deprived brain it all played like a dream; the shock of being exposed to the cold, the tentative and sensuous slide of fingers against his flesh, the slick and soft caresses of a tongue against his flesh. For surely, he must have been dreaming. The heavenly ministrations left him in a daze and unaware of the sounds he was emanating. In a reflexive instant, his hands moved to quicken the pace of the imagined partner, who sucked so eagerly at his weeping cock.

But as his hands came into contact with short, soft, and undeniably corporeal hair a vision momentarily flashed before his eyes. There before him, on his knees, was john. His dark eyes were deep with concentration and his cheeks were hollowed as he milked every last drop; took it all.

Bruce howled half in horror and half in pleasure. Electricity shot through every inch of his body as his orgasm hit and his eyes flew open to find John on his knees. His golden head bobbed up and down and several beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. In a last act of shock, Bruce's hands fell from John's steadily growing mop, his fingers thrumming with his impending orgasm as the beads of sweat clung to his finger tips. Un heedful of the voice which begged him to let John continue and finish, he grabbed the man by the shoulders and violently pushed him away. John crumpled to floor and Bruce moaned, pearly strands of cum dripping into John's mouth and onto his face.

Bruce almost could not bear to look at the sight before him. Yet he couldn't help but cast his eyes downward. John lay on the ground, wide eyed and open mouthed with shock. His golden hair glistened with sweat, his face was pale, and cum had splattered against his chin and neck. His lips were raw and red from brutally swallowing him _whole_. Bruce felt himself thickening again at the sight, and, suddenly remembered that his prick was exposed. He hastily put himself away, his cheeks tingeing vermillion as he zipped himself up. He closed his eyes, in an attempt to pretend he was anywhere else, but the weight of the gaze aimed directly at him forced him to pry them open. John was looking up pointedly at his clothed prick, the thickening bulge twitching with renewed interest as a pink tongue snaked out and returned with some of the dried cum dotting its tip. Bruce nearly groaned again, not of his own volition.

John smirked.

It was a deviant and satisfied smirk. A grin almost identical to the Joker that Bruce had always feared lay somewhere underneath. He was terrified.

He thought he was terrified.

He ought to have been terrified.

However mingling with fear, thick in his veins, ran the desire to beg him to do it again.

* * *

AN: I apologize for the wait, but real life happens. So does David Bowie. This scene was also impossible to write, as porn is not really my forte. So, feel free to tell me how to improve it.

Jess: I hope this B/J scene met your approval. You did ask for one after all. Oh, and Portuguese, like writing porn, is not really my forte either. French is more up my alley; and let me tell you, it's a very short alley. Basically John is all like "Bruce is never coming back. why would he come back? Join my Portuguese pity party." and the nurse is like "STFU. He always comes back." That's essentially it. If you'd like a blow by blow I'll get right on it, I'd just have to find the translator I used.


	8. Chapter 8

Alfred sighed as the doorbell rang. There was no doubt in his mind that it was another well-meaning detective. The weeks following Bruce's disappearance had been filled with an overabundance cops, detectives, and even psychics. All had been equally ineffectual and asked the same questions over and over again. To keep up appearances and remove all suspicion he had filled out a missing person's report. He regretted this more and more every time another interrogation began. As time passed, their visits were less frequent, but only more unwanted.

He assumed his usual countenance as he opened the door to reveal an almost mad looking Commissioner Gordon. His hair stood up at odd angles, his glasses were askew, and even his mustache was mussed. He was nearly panting and Alfred wondered if he had actually ran from the precinct on foot.

"Commissioner, are you all right?" He asked politely and the shorter man took a few moments to catch his breath before standing straight at last.

"I believe that we might have a lead. May I come in?" He said and Alfred nodded. He stepped aside to allow the younger man access and quickly led him to one of the mansion's vastly underutilized sitting rooms. it was a ghastly mix of Victorian styled furniture that had more or less been shoved into an odd room to keep it out of the way. Alfred called for tea as the rumpled Police Commissioner fell onto an old satin chair which loudly vomited lace. Alfred groaned as the chair creaked precariously beneath him.

"I am here…off the books." Gordon said and warning rang out in Alfred's mind.

"To discuss what, exactly?" He replied primly and watched as the transparent professional façade Gordon had constructed on his behalf began to crack. Alfred almost held his breath. He knew that he would have to bate the man further before he decided on a course of action. After all, he might not have discovered that his charge was batman. He also might not have discovered what he had done. All though exactly what else he might have come to discuss escaped the old man entirely.

"Bruce Wayne of---" Gordon sighed as his cell phone rang. He checked the number and planned on ignoring it, but upon seeing that it was his friend, Pieter Jacobs, he answered. Bodies had been recovered in an abandoned mansion a few days ago and he was probably just giving him a routine update from the lab. After all, it wasn't as if Alfred was going anywhere.

"Gordon." He said sharply as he pressed the phone to his ear. The tea arrived and Alfred watched as the man's face paled and his eyes widened. He had just had an epiphany. Alfred had a hard time pretending to be uninterested. His hands shook as he held the tea to his lips.

"Did you hear about the house around the corner?" Gordon asked with the pseudo-casualness that makes skin crawl as he put his phone away.

"Yes, it's awful what some people do. I heard they found a dozen bodies littered throughout the house."

"Ah, but we were able to keep one thing from the press." Gordon said with a small smirk and Alfred's eyes widened. "What, I did tell you that I'm here off the books." He continued. "The house was covered in The Joker's DNA. Blood, bile, sweat, and _semen._ He had been tortured and possibly even _raped_ in that house."

Alfred winced appropriately. His mouth went entirely dry. Is that why Bruce had disappeared? Was he protecting the joker?

"And do you know what else we found?"

Alfred shook his head.

"His mother, Rosalie Bayer. Her head hand been slammed into a wall. She had then been pushed down a flight of stairs. If the Joker was even alive when this happened, he would not have had the strength to do it. There are pictures of him scattered throughout the house bleeding and emaciated. He was dying. The fluids on the walls and floor show that he was being tortured around the same time as the others died. The freshest body belongs to Rosalie. She died on the same day that Mr. Wayne disappeared--"

"Are you are suggesting that Bruce Wayne took it upon himself to locate the joker, kill his mother, and then run off with him?" Alfred said with a derisively arched eyebrow. "Why on earth would he do that?"

"I was hoping that you would tell me." Gordon said through gritted teeth and Alfred chuckled.

"Maybe they'd been having a secret affair for months and decided to elope."

Gordon growled.

"And as for killing his mother, well--in laws can be quite a pain you know."

A vein began to visibly throb I the commissioner's forehead.

"Granted, it is a strange coincidence but I hardly see how this is relevant."

"Then how do you explain away his constant injuries?"

Alfred knew that Bruce would kill him, but he saw no other way. "Bruce has…certain proclivities." Gordon's eyes widened. Alfred was certain that the man wouldn't delve further into that one.

Gordon had ran completely out of steam and in mere minutes the conversation ended with a suspicious looking Police Commissioner storming out of the mansion and a frantic Alfred storming through it. He tore through every place Bruce might have hidden information as the commissioner got into his car and clicked open his phone and called one of his assistants.

"I want the phone in Wayne's mansion tapped, the bank accounts watched, and 24 hour surveillance on Alfred Pennyworth. He's hiding something." Despite the protest coming from the other end Gordon slammed his phone shut and sped away.

* * *

LV: Thanks a million. It's great to know that my writing acheives the desired effect. It makes me feel all warm and bubbly inside. :)

ananamoose: Thanks! I love you too.

Jess: I figured, I just like to pretend that I'm witty. And on my first whack at my Harry potter fic there was this chick who would harangue me every time I didn't update fast enough for her liking. It honestly was not pleasant. And there are several twists left in this. It's gonna be a real nail biter. Lol. Thanks for the feedback.

AN: My Gordon might seem a bit OOC: But the man has become obsessed and is cracking. Also, if you are into Labyrinth there is this great fic on this site called The Goblin Market. It blew me away. Seriously. You should go read it right now.


	9. Chapter 9

As Bruce looked down at that smirking and scarred face, gilded and sullied with his seed, a growl broke from his throat. There was so much of the Joker he remembered in that grin that it sent revulsion shooting through him. And anger: anger at himself for being so easily seduced and anger at john for being so…

Before Bruce could contain himself his hands were wrapped around The Joker's throat. The unadulterated fear that Bruce saw in those eyes sent a jolt through every bone that caused him to let go of John. He crumpled to the floor. He looked so small, and it was at that instant that Bruce remembered he held the emotional maturity of a child. He did not know whether he had been violated or he just violated a poor soul who was more misguided child than man, but it still left him feeling sick. He returned his gaze to the cum-stained heap on the floor to find the fear in his eyes roughly turning to betrayal and then-

"Fuck." Bruce swore aloud as glimmers of the demon he remembered began to return. "I'm sorry." He said quietly and watched as John moved onto his haunches, his head cocked to the side. He began to giggle softly.

"You startled me John! That's not exactly the way one expects to be woken up! And I can't-"

"I never believed you." He said in an eerie sing song voice. He nodded his head in time with the beat of his words.

"John, what are you talking-"

"I. Never. Believed. YOU!" He affirmed triumphantly and then started to tap his fingers and toes on the cold floor. As his head bobbed and his body shook his hospital gown rode up, giving Bruce a view of the newly forming bruise on his hip, from when he had dropped him. It was as he saw that Bruise that he realized exactly what John was referring to. It was a conversation they had had several weeks before.

_"There are only two things for which you will ever be punished for." He said and watched as the criminal's eyes widened and jaw unhinged. He simply couldn't believe it. "Hurting yourself. Or Hurting anyone else."_

_"So…" The Joker licked his lips. "Unless I am…__violent__…you won't be?"_

_"I don't want to hurt you John." _

"Fuck!" Bruce swore angrily as he returned to the present and to the quaking, singing John. He knelt on the floor beside him and tried to gently call to him. The man only continued to sing. He tried again and again to no avail and at last, seeing no other option, he took John's face into his hands and turned it toward him.

"Look at me." He said softly and John stopped singing. He fell ominously silent and peered into his eyes with indescribably intensity, as if he were searching for something. Bruce let him look.

"I do not want to hurt you." He said didactically, but with the utmost sincerity. "I do not enjoy hurting others. It's just that you scared the shit out of me."

John kept staring directly into his eyes. Bruce was becoming uncomfortable. "How would you react if one night when you were sleeping I climbed on top of you and…and…"

"Sucked my cock?" John supplied and Bruce winced.

"Well…yes. And completely out of the blue and with no warning whatsoever."

The smaller man seemed to ponder this for a few minutes before entwining himself further into Bruce's embrace and spinning himself around. He rested his head on his shoulder.

"I wouldn't mind." He said candidly and Bruce felt his hot breath blowing against the crevices of his ear. "After all, worse things have happened." He said and Bruce's entire body stiffened. The mere thought of what had happened to his charge completely obliterated the erection he had felt slowly building since John planted himself in his lap. Greif poured off of him in waves.

"I was just trying to thank you." John whispered sadly and Bruce again gently repositioned his face so that he was looking into his eyes. While misguided, Bruce supposed it was a sweet gesture. He also figured that admonishing him for attempting to do something positive would do more harm than good.

"Just…warn me next time." Bruce had to fight not to clamp his hand over his mouth. While he was not sure whether he was relived or displeased by accidentally implying that there would be a next time, the accomplished glow that John had attained made it almost impossible for him to take back what he had said.

"So I was good then?" John asked quietly and he started to chuckle as Bruce's face flushed considerably.

"Go wash your face." Bruce said defensively and John chuckled again as he sprung up from his lap and disappeared into the room's bathroom. Bruce put his head in his hands.

* * *

Alfred looked at all of the criminal operations Bruce had gained an intimate knowledge of over the years. Needless to say, the list had been endless. From these Alfred narrowed it down to the ones that owned hospitals or other establishments which would be imperative for helping a man as beaten as the one that Gordon described.

He had come up with four. Two of these were in the United States and Alfred sincerely doubted that Bruce would have stayed in the country. The other two were a private establishment in Moscow owned by the ruthless white collar criminal, Ermolai Sokolov, and a South American hospital bought with Drug money and used as a storehouse by Amilcar Magalhães. Sokolov was a notorious snake on all accounts, while Magalhães was notoriously loyal to the highest bidder. Upon looking into it, Alfred found that Magalhães was the all around better choice. In fact, he would have bet his left leg that Bruce and the Joker were there.

"And soon I'll join them." He said aloud.

* * *

Voldy's pink teddy: I saw your name and I laughed so hard that I nearly spit coffee all over my keyboard. No lie. And I Promise I have an angle with the whole sadist thing. Thanks for the review!

Jess: Why thank you *stroked proverbial beard and raises one eyebrow*. And that's funny about the chair. I have this one grandmother who hoards everything she ever bought in this big ass musty house. She has this one chair that literally just looks like a giant obnoxious heap of cheap lace on a wire frame.

LV: I don't know whether the thing in my inbox is a new or an old message or which chapter its referring to, but thanks for the compliments and the message regardless!


	10. Chapter 10

With John asleep, the quiet of the room had really started to bore Bruce. Less than an hour before he had drank a cup of coffee, assuming that he would need the energy as it had appeared that John would be up all night again. To say that the man's sleeping patterns were erratic was an understatement. He never really seemed to sleep at all for long periods of time. He would merely nap and here and there, like a small child might.

Thinking of all of his child-like qualities led Bruce on one of two mental paths, each of which caused him equal emotional turmoil. Along one path his past his cackling mouth dripped with paint as he held a knife between Rachel's quivering lips. He cackled and mocked and lashed out with deadly bursts of anger. He dangled off of the edge of a roof. Along the other he asked to be read to, smiled easily, slept curled in a little ball, and his doe eyes would occasionally tear up whenever memories ambushed him.

Either way that Bruce looked at it the same man watched his every movement as if he were a giant walking talking gourmet cake that he could barely help himself from pouncing on. And to complicate things, he would soon be well enough to leave the hospital. While there was no doubt in Bruce's mind that he would take John with him to the house he had just bought and care for him, recent developments made him apprehensive to say the least. His own tempestuous emotions--

His reverie was broken as John shifted in his sleep revealing bloodless flesh through which every vertebra of his spine jutted out. Gruesome lines of oddly shaped scars from where his skin had been marred by corset piercings showed through the open back of his hospital gown. While the lower ones were covered by the blanket which he had cocooned his legs and behind in, the few which climbed higher were bared to the low light.

Without thought, Bruce reached out and traced them with his fingertips. While the skin he ghosted his fingers across was too marred for any sort of conceivable beauty, and not yet healthy enough to be particularly soft or supple; it was warm. For the moment that was enough. It was stretched too tightly over some bones that were crooked from injuries which had never been allowed to heal properly. It was transparent and gruesome in spots, but Bruce even touched these.

"What am I going to do with you?" He breathed aloud.

Unbeknownst to Bruce, beneath John's lidded eyes his mind reeled. He was about to open his eyes and ask Bruce what he meant when suddenly he heard the door open and footsteps. He sighed a small sad sigh as Bruce's hand left his shoulder.

"He will be good to leave in a few days."

John rolled over toward the voice and peered up at Bruce and the visitor through his eyelashes.

"I know. I've made all of the arrangements."

"What are you going to be doing with him?" Amilcar Magalhães expected the glare he received. Bruce Wayne had been awfully cagey about giving him any sort of personal information from the very beginning. He had paid him exorbitant amounts to see to it that he didn't even mention anything regarding him to god when he prayed. He, however, did not expect such a straightforward answer.

"He'll be staying with me." Bruce said quickly and Magalhães nodded.

"Then may I make a suggestion?"

Bruce nodded tightly.

"The scars on his face make him very easy to pick out of a crowd-- I can see that you have had the same thoughts."

"I have."

"My mother sees a man who could leave him with a face so perfect that no one in the world would ever suspect that he was him."

"But should her doctor tell anyone what he has done it would not matter how perfect a job he had done."

John smiled inwardly. He nearly _sang_ inwardly. Not only did Bruce plan on taking him with him, but he was protecting him. Warmth tingled even in his usually frigid feet.

"I own him. The man will say nothing as long as I say so. I can have him here tomorrow if you like."

"If he wants it then it will be done." Bruce said as he looked toward the apparently sleeping John and Magalhães nodded before bidding Bruce a polite goodnight and leaving the room. Bruce sighed before moving to turn away from the bed. He stopped upon feeling a thin hand grasp lightly at his leg. He looked down to find John wide awake and his eyes smiling brighter than his elated grin.

"Where are we going to go?" He asked excitedly as he sat up and Bruce chuckled.

"I bought a house." He said quietly and John started to bounce up and down excitedly on the bed.

"You bought us a house!" He chirped happily. "I'm going to have a house." He said at last with a small grin as he calmed. He then turned his head up at Bruce suspiciously. "What does that man want to do to my face?" He asked and watched as the older man's grin deflated.

"He wants…" Bruce began and bit his bottom lip lightly. "He wants to well…" He couldn't say it. "He wants to get rid of these." Bruce then reached out and ran one finger along the uneven bumps of one side of his harrowing smile. He moved his hand quickly away as John's eyes shut and his jaw became slack. "Would you like that?" He asked quickly, if only to distract John. It didn't work. John merely picked up his hand and began to drag the fingers over the other side of his lopsided perpetual grin. He practically purred like a great cat.

"For a price." He said with a wicked gleam in his eyes and before Bruce could back away John had captured his bottom lip and was nibbling it between his jagged teeth.

* * *

Jess: Thanks so much. As of now, this story has 22 chapters. Some might be split up or combined as I go about writing it, but plot wise there is still a bit before the end. And almost everyone I know is having computer issues lately. I'm really starting to think that computers are overrated.

Kichi: Awesome. Glad you liked it. I actually feel like I'm starting to come into my own with smut since no one has complained. Well, slash anyway.

AN: Ff's spellchecker doesn't count 'unbeknownst' as a word. Am I pulling a shakespeare and making up shit as I go along, or is their spellchecker wrong?


	11. Chapter 11

It had not taken much to throw off Gotham's police. In fact, Alfred was sure that they were still probably sploshing around hopelessly through a half-flooded England searching for him. He could only hope that they would never dig any deeper. All though, using an unknown credit card under an assumed name to purchase a ticket and reviving an old disguise he had used whilst helping Bruce hunt the Joker definitely lent him a hand where secrecy was concerned. He had flown from Gotham to Mexico City and from there to Fortaleza.

After settling in the beautiful Vila Galé Fortaleza, which was settled on the beach and bathed consistently in both warm tropical sun and a tantalizing sea breeze, he set out into the buzzing metropolis of Fortaleza to find the hospital which was owned by Amilcar Magalhães.

John had been in the operating room for nearly two hours and Bruce was losing his mind. He had actually manage to scuff a significant hole in the bottom of his shoe. The white walls of the waiting room were driving him to madness. There was nothing to do and little to focus on other than his anxiety, which grew by leaps and bounds with every interminable minute of silence. He had sent John in almost expecting clichéd horror-movie-esque screams to sound from behind the closed doors as the sound of whirring saws against bone echoed throughout the halls.

"Mr. Wayne." Bruce nearly jumped out of his skin upon hearing the almost oily voice of Amilcar Magalhães. He looked up to find the man sitting across from him in one of the greyish visitor chairs. "They are almost finished. Should only be about another two hours. He's doing very well."

Bruce simultaneously let out a sigh of relief and a groan of impatience.

"You will be able to take him home today." Magalhães watched on with interest as his strange client both paled and smiled at once.

"Thank you." Bruce said quietly. A multitude of questions flashed through Magalhães' eyes but he spoke none of them, after all--some of his three million depended upon it.

"You are always welcome here." He said simply before leaving the room. As his footsteps faded Bruce attempted vainly to relax back into the uncomfortable chair. His nervous fingers found their way to his lips, which had somehow seemed to become irrevocably altered. They tingled against his fingertips.

It passed in a daze. John was brought out from the room half unconscious and his entire head wrapped up as if he had been enbalmed. His dark eyes swam and peeked out beneath indecisive lids. One of his fingers waved about languidly and fell. He was strapped to a wheelchair.

"John?" Bruce had murmured quietly as he placed a hand on his shoulder, but the man did not answer. With a nurse watching his every move closely he pulled up his hood and wheeled John out of the hospital and into the daylight. John was quickly secured into the back of his black Buick. As Bruce was about to shut the door he heard a small cry come from within the car and froze.

"Bruce?" It was a tiny, muffled and almost unintelligible whine.

"Yes?" He whispered as he knelt down to John's level.

"Hurts." John said before his eyes started to close.

"I know." Bruce said and gently took one of his hands in his own. "You'll be alright. We'll be home soon." He promised before shutting the door and moving to the driver's seat.

Bruce had never been a particularly careful driver, however in this instance he became almost paranoid. Every other car or bus on the road seemed to be a threat that loomed outside of the hospital entrance gate. On the road he was internally a wreck. It was as he watched a suspicious looking bright green car nearly swerve into a roadside building that he saw the last person he expected to see, and almost the last person he wanted to see. Alfred stood on the sidewalk at a small roadside cart, buying lunch. Their eyes met.

"Fuck!" Bruce swore as he watched the man rush into his car and quickly start following them. He knew that he could not lose him without drawing attention to them, and that that kind of risky driving simply could not happen with John in the back seat in such a condition. "I have no choice." Bruce grumbled as he switched lanes. At least he had about an hour to gather his thoughts. His mansion was far from the noise of the city.

* * *

kichi: Sorry, I don't watch celebrity rehab. I kind of thought about having them be self-inflicted and have him not want to get them removed, but this is what just sort of happened naturally so I let it.

Jess: That's a really great compliment that my John holds up so well in your mind, so thanks! I'd certainly like to give him a hug. lol.

M: To be honest with you, I kind of exhausted myself with angst in LAAIACD. There will definitely be some more conflict in this by the end, though, so don't worry.

AN: A thirteen year old girl just wrote one of the best fucking books I've ever read. I am both insanely jealous and very skeptical.


	12. Chapter 12

As he pulled up to the gates of his mansion they opened. They were old fashioned yet undeniably well-kept. Sprawling green land stretched behind them and led to a small cream-colored mansion on top of a hill. Bruce sighed as Alfred followed him in. It would be home. _For now. _

He could already see several house employees gathering at the gate to help him take the still unconscious John inside. He slowly and painstakingly brought the car to a stop, as not to wake the sleeping and bandaged man in the back seat. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Alfred came to a stop, took a deep breath, and started to open the car. It played achingly slowly against his eyes, which fought to deny the man standing expectantly next to a red Nissan. With one last look at John he got out of the car and turned to face Alfred.

He had expected rage. Burning. _Seething. Uncontrollable. _**Rage**. He had not expected that an almost teary eyed Alfred would enfold him in a fatherly embrace so tight that it almost cracked his ribs.

"You blithering idiot." He said almost fondly as he stepped away and Bruce could not help but smile. He was about to return the sentiment when all humor left the older man's face. He cast a distasteful sideways glance at the car. "He's in there isn't he." It was not a question although both Alfred's disbelief and his disgust were apparent.

"Yes." Bruce said more heatedly than he had intended and the man who had raised him took a step back. He had prayed that Bruce would deny it. Not only the confirmation but its delivery blasted open the door to a whole new realm of worry. "And he's sleeping, so you should probably--" Bruce stopped as the sound of hesitant taps against glass echoed lightly. Alfred watched in horror as the car door was opened to reveal a heavily bandaged and simpering creature with wide eyes and shaking fingers. Little whimpering sounds escaped the bandages.

"Don't…she…no…" If the streams of panicked exclamations half-muffled by gauze were not enough to further disturb Alfred, who had half-expected to find Bruce dead at the Joker's hands; the sight of the man he had never even seen allow himself a moment of comfort whispering kind words and offering soothing touches sent him almost twitching. These were not the touches of someone with a mere friendly emotional interest. Alfred saw this clearly. He watched as The joker's skeletal fingers reached toward Bruce's own with all of the effort his drugged body could muster. His entire body looked painfully tense.

"They will take you to your room. Don't worry. I'll be there soon." Bruce said softly and John relaxed only marginally as two of the mansion's employees gingerly maneuvered him into a wheelchair and took him into a house. His fingers brushed clumsily down Bruce's arm as he was wheeled away.

Alfred watched as those fingers were at last out of reach, though they still grasped vainly at air. He turned his eyes back to Bruce who seemed to have forgotten that he was not standing outside alone. He looked toward the Joker with crippling pathos, his own hand unconsciously tracing the path on his arm that those cadaverous fingers had traced only moments before. Alfred understood all at once.

An appalled "Fuck me." escaped him as he put his hands in what was left of his hair. "This is not possible! He's the--" One look from Bruce silenced him.

"Come inside." Bruce said. His voice left no room for argument and without even another glance he started to walk toward the front doors of his mansion. Alfred followed behind, his numb feet dragging on the gleaming path through the green.

* * *

Jess: Glad you picked up on it. I wondered if anyone would. Then again, you seem to pick up on pretty much everything I throw at you.

andaere: It's cool. You're not beholden to me in any way. Thanks for coming back, though. Missed you! The truth is I'm very flighty also. The only obsession I've ever had that I haven't been able to shake off is David Bowie. God. I love that man… But, I digress. Glad I could pull you back in. You don't know how big of a compliment that is for me. Thank you kindly!


	13. Chapter 13

"_Dr. Crane! He cannot take anymore! We must end this now! It won't be long until he-" She stopped as the Joker flat lined. His body lay still. _

"_Let me in Daniel." _

_Oh. He'd let her in… _

"Stop!"

_He had set fire to her. How he had enjoyed it at the time. How that little cunt had deserved it. How that little fucking slut who had wanted to suck him off through the hole in the wall had screamed as her pretty hair and her pretty skin and at last her pretty fucking eyes were burned to a little piece of fucking nothing. She had looked like a piece of shit on the basement floor. _

"No!"

_So he'd tried to stuff the bitch down the toilet. After all, what did you do with shit? Well, he didn't often have the luxury of doing the proper thing with it, so he figured he might as well this one time, before she came home and brought out the bucket again. _

_How he had hated that fucking bucket. _

John's deformed and tortured cries of 'first kill first kill first kill first kill' were muffled by his bandages. The largely non-english speaking staff could not understand. He lay alone as he mind turned on itself, every foul memory let loose. The pain doubled as he was forced to confront the knowledge that what he had done was abominable. Pain killers swam in his veins and wrapped about his quaking limbs. He couldn't escape the stench of her beautiful body as it burned.

--------------

"…and for the time being, we are going to stay here…until John heals." Bruce finished and Alfred's parchment-thin English skin had paled even further than its usual white. Half way through Bruce's explanation he had dropped his tea. His wet shoes tapped madly in the mess, splashing it. He had wrung his hands almost to the point of strangulation in his lap. He swallowed several lumps in his throat, at an utter loss for words. Bruce watched closely as Alfred watched him with wide disbelieving eyes. He brought his fingertips to his temples in a futile attempt to rub away the headache that was obviously building.

"I don't think I believe—"

"But it's the truth." Bruce said and Alfred's eyebrows seemed to disappear into his hairline.

"I just...it's just…he's…have you lost your _damn _mind!?" Alfred began as his fingers tore at the skin on his face. "I mean, he's a maniac! He tore an entire city apart with the same ease that most people tie their shoes with-"

"Not anymore." Bruce said flatly, obviously attempting to mask his displeasure.

"Of course not! He can barely walk! You don't think that when he's hale and whole again he won't hesitate to string you up from the ceiling by your intestines and go kill another couple thousand pople? You don't think he's capable of using you? You don't believe that a manipulative sociopath uses people? What in god's name has happened to you?" Alfred rose from his chair and came to stand before Bruce. "This is the man who killed Rachel and blew Dent half to hell just to prove a point. He tortured a man to death on the evening news, just to get a reaction. He's willing to kidnap mental patients and blow up prisons and hospitals in order to get is way. But, somehow, in your mind, the very idea that he might be manipulating you is preposterous?"

Bruce's knuckles were white from gripping the chair he sat on. He looked intensely ashamed of himself. "So, you are thinking that it's all an act?" He asked tightly. "That he only played the victim and the second I turned my back he was attempting to make deadly weapons out of the string on the waist of his hospital gown?"

"I am thinking that he will be sweet as anything until it no longer suits him to be. I saw the way you looked after him when he was wheeled in here! He's obviously done a remarkable job—"

"Do you want to know why I chose this house?" Bruce spat at last and rose from his chair so quickly that it fell over. Without a word he started stalking away and Alfred quickly followed, traling tea behind him.

"I was immensely particular." Bruce fumed as he flew down the hall at a pace that Alfred had no hope of matching. The old man could barely keep tabs on direction as he struggled to keep moving forward. After what felt like hours they stopped before a door that would not open. Bruce took out a key and violently shoved it open.

"This house belonged to the head of one of the largest a farthest reaching coke rings in the western world--Cayetano Rendón. In the months leading up to his death, he became increasingly and inexplicably paranoid." Bruce said this with a sardonic quirk of his lips as he led Alfred down a short corridor.

"He had the whole bloody house wired, didn't he?" Alfred thought aloud. He was pulled into a room that seemed to be made of TV screens. Screens covered every wall and Alfred politely averted his eyes upon finding that the house's previous owner had even put cameras in the bathrooms.

"Here is your cold blooded killer!" Bruce spat venomously as what appeared to be little more than a bundle of bed sheets appeared on a large screened computer on a desk in the middle of the room. All at once there was an overabundance of sound.

"I DON'T EXIST!" The cry rang throughout the room. Alfred watched in horror as the Joker began to claw at the bandages on his face. "I DON'T EXIST!" He cried again and the next thing Alfred knew Bruce had fled the room.

Not knowing the way to the Joker's room or out of the house he sat at the desk and watched as the Joker continued to scream miserably. He had laredy obviously been at it for some time.

"I DIDN'T MEAN TO KILL HER AND I DON'T EXST AND I really wanted TO KILL HER AND I DON'T EXIST AND…" His tirade continued on blindly as Bruce entered the room. He did not even seem to notice.

"John." Bruce said softly and his behavior did not change or show any sign of abating. Alfred watched as Bruce grabbed the frail man by the arms and pinned him down to the bed in order to stop him from causing further damage to himself. While he was obviously using all of his strength it was obvious not much of a physical struggle for the far larger and stronger Bruce to keep him there. John cried and screamed until at last he was drained of energy. He laid wild-eyed and breathing shallow quick breaths beneath Bruce.

"John." Bruce said softly and the smaller man's eyes snapped toward him with inhuman speed. "Do you know where you are?"

Alfred held his breath as he magnified the view, to get a good look at the Joker. His helpless eyes and disgustingly swollen face almost sent pangs of guilt through Alfred.

"I-I-I-I…" John stammered weakly, his eyes searching vainly for an answer as they rolled about in his head.

"Do you know who I am?" This question was spoken so softly that Alfred almost did not hear it and with such a mawkish tone that the man wished that he hadn't. He felt his heart hammering in his throat as the man he almost could not admit was the joker suddenly calmed. His eyelids began to drift closed and he whispered another word that Alfred wished he had never heard.

_Home_.

"Yes." Bruce replied just as quietly and tried to disentangle himself from the smaller man's lethargic body. John wouldn't let him. Alfred could not see or hear the exact words he spoke into Bruce's shoulder; all he knew was that they were inarguably effective.

* * *

Kichi: Lol. My thought was that he's kind of taken Bruce on as his like mother/father figure in a way and since Bruce wanted it and he wanted to make him happy he went along with it.

Jess: I'm on the fence with Alfred. I' m just going to have to see what happens naturally. And if you remember from LAAIACD, drugs don't really sit too well with John.

Ladyvader169: It's ok, I just figured you got bored and moved on or something, and I'll definitely see this through, so no worries. It might take me a while to finish what I start, but I always do. John felt the need to be punished when he had did nothing wrong because she had trained him to believe that almost everything he did was wrong and would punish him in any number of fun and exciting ways accordingly. Everything she did to him she did because she was sadistic and mental. And as far as the whole 'Baby' thing goes, she was insane so I reinvented her logic.


	14. Chapter 14

Alfred was jolted awake as a hand came to rest on his shoulder. He had not remembered falling asleep. His back groaned louder than he did as he looked into the computer monitor before him to find a peacefully sleeping joker. All of the memories which preceded his slip into unconsciousness hit him. Hard. He looked behind him into the sleep clouded and almost vulnerable blue eyes of the young man he had raised.

"Don't you understand Alfred?" Bruce pleaded as he sat beside Alfred and the older man stared idly at the screen, his head resting limply in his hands. A look of incredulity ghosted across his tired face briefly as the scenes on the surrounding screens changed casting strange patterns across his sharp features.

"I simply cannot believe it Master Wayne. It's not possible." He returned with a melancholic vehemence found only in the emotionally drained.

"But it is! It makes perfect sense and you know it."

"The Joker is not a helpless child! He steals! He lies! He murders! He blows up hospitals for the sheer bloody _hell_ of it! He is _not_ a victim!" Alfred cried.

"You think John's not a victim? He _is_ a victim of himself. In fact, he's far too much a victim of himself-"

"And you'd like to join his list of victims? If anyone deserves to suffer it's that hideous, evil-"

"He was held captive, tortured psychologically and physically, starved, and raped by his own mother daily for months. Hasn't he suffered enough for you?" Bruce snarled. "And can you only imagine what his childhood was like? Can't you see why no records exist of it? She kept him locked away like an animal. She never even taught him to read. Dare I enlighten you as to the kinds of things his mother did teach her **darling** _baby __**boy**_?"

Alfred cringed as the sounds of pained whimpers sounded from the screen. He couldn't even bare to look.

"The pain meds made him hallucinate and brought back all kinds of terrible memories. He has chosen to be in physical agony as his face heals rather than relive the memories. Do you understand Alfred?" Bruce swallowed and rubbed his temples. "You can stay here, or you can go." Bruce said and swept out of the room. Alfred scowled. He knew exactly where the man was going.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Police Commissioner Jim Gordon was positively beside himself. Alfred's phones had been tapped, his bank accounts watched, and he had had men watching the Wayne household around the clock. Despite their protests that the old butler was doing absolutely nothing suspicious he had kept them there for almost a month. Aside from only leaving the mansion for an occasional stroll or to do something trivial about town, Alfred Pennyworth did nothing of any note. His continued and steadfast unsuspicious behavior had man many cops think that Gordon had finally cracked. While they way he worked had always been incredibly unorthodox it had always been for the best, so they didn't question him…for the first two weeks.

Almost two months had passed and Gordon was starting to doubt himself when suddenly there was an unusual amount of action in the accounts. Upon looking into it he saw that Alfred had booked a one way flight to London and a room for two weeks at The NH Kensington Hotel. The men he had sent grudgingly followed Alfred only to find that not only halfway to the airport he disappeared entirely, but he never took the flight he had booked. Nor did he ever arrive in the NH Kensington.

Upon questioning the staff and looking through tapes from the security cameras of Gotham's airport with specialized equipment they were able to recognize Alfred through both an incredibly bad tan and an incredibly bad hairpiece. Gordon wondered exactly who the man thought he was fooling with that thing. It was not long until they were able to ascertain the exact flight he had taken: From Gotham, to Mexico City, and lastly to Fortaleza, Brazil.

Gordon searched all of the possible hospitals in the area. With the condition that the Joker had been in, Wayne would have had to have taken him to one and the Police Commissioner intended to find out exactly which hospital and possibly even what home they had moved into. He couldn't help but grin. He would call in a few favors. It would almost be too easy.

* * *

Kichi: Thanks! I think you'll love John when he's healed a bit more. I have some plans for him. ^^

Jess: Probably, but I love them too. That's why I keep writing them. They really hit a nerve in me that has been unhit by any of my prior writings. And I totally agree with you about Alfred. That was pretty much my exact thought process (along with the fact that it adds some drama to the mix). You know, because there just wasn't enough drama beforehand. If you don't figure out how the titles relate by the time this is over then I'll explain, but since you seem to be on my wavelength I think you'll figure it out.

Ladyvader169: My goal is to peddle cocaine in a literary form. And you picture it that way because I wrote John to create a specific and strong impression using an archetype that everyone can relate to. I'm very much about images since I come from a visual arts kind of place…sort of. And I was an English gentleman in a past life so there is no hope of me ever giving myself any credit. The fact that you give me so much with every review really makes my day though. ^^

AN: déjà vu, anyone?

AN2: I'm going to really be cranking chapters out because I have two other fics I want to at least start by the end of the summer. The one I'm really looking forward to is a Harry Potter/Labyrinth/The Birdcage crossover. It will be my first comedy. I'm pretty stoked.


	15. Chapter 15

While Alfred was by no means pleased, amused, or even slightly approving of whatever strange relationship he saw forming between Bruce and John, he had grudgingly began to accept it. After all, a sane person could only remain suspicious for so long after it became entirely clear that absolutely nothing was going to happen. The worst he had seen John attempt was to steal a kiss, and while it bothered Alfred horribly and was a definite cause for worry it was by no means a life threatening pursuit. It was not even slightly violent.

He had watched John go from a quivering swollen mess to a slightly less swollen and slightly less grotesque mess. From that slightly less grotesque mess he had become something that Alfred unwillingly admitted could almost be considered pretty beneath his bandages. When he emerged, fully functioning and attractive Alfred knew there was going to be absolute hell. He would feel like he was constantly chaperoning a dance at a junior high school—then again, from the covert looks he had seen Bruce trying to hide and the blatant looks of lust that seemed to somehow eek from John's very pores, Alfred knew that it would be more like watching dogs in heat. His face turned green.

"God! I need to get out of this house!" Alfred had been saying such things for weeks, however, he could hardly bring himself to leave the room, especially after Bruce had blatantly explained to John that he was there. John had taken to roaming the house (claiming that it was his first home so he wanted to know every inch of it) and the last thing Alfred wanted was to run into him. He might not be able to stop himself from wringing his skinny and flagrantly white neck if he accidentally bumped into him during one of the man's many explorations.

---------------------

John had been so engrossed in the Harry Potter book that Bruce had bought for him that he hadn't heard him enter the room. While occasionally he could not understand a word he found himself captivated by the plot and could simply sit and read for hours without noticing that any time had passed. Bruce had joked that the house could fall down around him and he wouldn't even look up.

Bruce walked into the room with near silence only to stop not far from the door. There were few instances in which he could actually _look _at John. While he constantly saw him it was only when he read that he was unaware enough to allow enough time for any kind scrutiny.

He had definitely gained some weight since he had been introduced to the concept of regular meals; however he was naturally rather petite and still quite underweight. While his bones no longer protruded eerily from his body they still were visible. His collarbones protruded delicately and neck was still slender. Each protrusion captured shadow as he bent over his book. The too-big shirt he had stolen from Bruce billowed about him slightly in the breeze which floated in through an open window. His dark blonde hair, which seemed to grow at an almost freakish rate, was a short haphazard mess of bedheaded twists and soft curls.

Several check-ups had passed and at last the day had come for the last of the bandages to be removed. As John had asked to be alone during all of his check ups Bruce had only seen glimpses of his face when he had quickly changed wrappings in the very beginning. After John had learned how to change his bandages and clean his healing stitched up incisions himself Bruce had not seen what lay beneath them at all. He was almost twitching with anticipation. He was about to see the joker without his scars.

"Bruce?" John spoke quietly, shrinking slightly under such intense scrutiny. He knew very well what day it was. His hands held onto the pages of his book hard enough to tear. He was obviously nervous. "Are you ready?" He whispered and Bruce crossed the room in several long strides. He only nodded and waited for John to start removing the last of his bandages. He held his breath and was forced to release it. John didn't move a muscle.

"Would you…?" The smaller man asked quietly. He took Bruce's hands in his own and guided them up toward his bandages. Their softness and the heat radiating through them teased the edges of his fingertips. His throat went dry as he nodded and started to gingerly remove the last of the bandages, slowly revealing a flawless face.

Bruce's jaw dropped and his hands fell, leaving a stubborn bandage still clinging by a piece of tape to the underside of his jaw. His pallid face was an attractive combination of both soft and pointed features. Between his deep set, dark, and childlike eyes and angular jaw was a pair of knifelike cheekbones that starkly divided the planes of his face. His chin jutted forward and the bones of his skull nearly poked through his skin at his temples. His teeth were still slightly yellow but in a natural way. His lips were thin but delicately pointed. It was only his thinness that made his features harsh. Bruce was certain that once he reached a healthier weight his face would soften as the visibility of the bones which cut his face into such harsh planes diminished.

While the eerie thinness of his body gave him a slightly dangerous appearance Bruce was struck by how conventionally and undeniably attractive the man who stood before him was. It was then that he remembered that his mother was also beautiful. She had leant the lines of her face to her child. Thinking about her caused a shadow to cross Bruce's face and John took his displeasure personally.

"Is it all right?" He murmured and as Bruce's mind returned to the present his face softened into a small grin.

"It's perfect." He replied and John beamed. "Would you like to see?"

The blonde man nodded emphatically, his curls bounced. For the first time he was annoyed by the fact that the doctors had suggested that all mirrors be removed from his room, so that he could not look at himself until he was properly healed. While he had used to avoid mirrors fastidiously, he found that he simply had to see what he looked like without the scars, even if it was only just once.

"Come on then! We can use the big mirror in the bathroom." Bruce said and a smirk overcame John's face that was practically a mile long. It was somehow reminiscent of the Joker, only instead of mania there was a harmless playfulness in it.

"I know a better room." He said and Bruce raised his eyebrows questioningly. "I found it while I was walking around a few nights ago."

"And what room is that?"

John could barely contain his laughter. Ever since he had found it ideas had been spinning wildly in his head. After all, it had been so long since he had, had any kind of fun. "I'll tell you—under one condition." His grin was almost shark like.

"And that condition is?"

John placed a hand on his shoulder. He somehow managed to look innocent even with a wolfish grin on his attractive face. "You are always teaching me things, and, well, this time, I want to teach you something." He said as he ghosted his hand along Bruce's chest and began to skirt his hands along the skin exposed above the collar of the larger man's shirt. Bruce's eyes started to drift shut even as he glared. "Won't you let me? Please?" He simpered in a purposefully over the top manner, looking up at Bruce through his eyelashes in a way that had once been facetious, but became sinfully alluring on his new face. His feather light touches prevented Bruce from thoroughly forming coherent reservations.

"You're a manipulative thing." He muttered good-naturedly and John chuckled before grabbing his hand.

"It's Rendón's wife's closet!" He blurted excitedly. Before Bruce could do more than gape like a hooked fish he was being dragged out of the room and down the hall.

* * *

Jess: Yay! Yeah, I had an inspired day and wrote four chapters in one night. It was crazy. I think it's Peter Murphy's fault.

LV: No, I never get tired of people telling me how good my work is. It's a defect of my personality. Praise IS my cocaine. Glad you enjoyed it. And Alfred was beyond annoyed. lol.

AN: I saw The Hunger yesterday. It's plot was almost nonexistant but it was so gorgeous (and not just because David Bowie was there). Tony Scott is a ballin director. I wish my last name was Blaylock. Also, any movie that opens with Peter Murphy performing is a GREAT movie. Fuck the acadamy.


	16. Chapter 16

Jim Gordon had, had to pull strings. A LOT of strings. First he had, had to lie to his boss and ask for some time off to cool down. Bearing in mind that almost all of the officers who worked under him were convinced that he was cracking in a spectacular way the man had been more than happy to allow him some vacation time. It had been almost too easy. The hard part had been lying to Barbara.

She understood that there were things he investigated and was a part of that, as a professional, he could not talk about. So, when he had told her that he was aiding in an investigation out west and he was not permitted to give any details she accepted it immediately. After all, in all of the years they had been married he had only lied to her twice.

Gordon had felt awful as he boarded the plane at Gotham airport to Fortaleza. He had even gotten a flight attendant who he had helped a few years back to get him on the plane for free. He had all of the information. Real estate records and tales of a stern man who had paid for a multi-million dollar house in cash spoke for themselves. He knew precisely where Bruce Wayne, and possibly the Joker, was.

He had kept this information to himself, not wanting anyone else involved. The last thing in the world he wanted was to out Bruce Wayne to the world. He just needed the proof that he was Batman. If he had the Joker with him Gordon had absolutely no idea what he would do. If Wayne did not hand him over willingly, Gordon would have to resort to all sorts of legal measures, publically. He would be forced to out Bruce Wayne and the man would undoubtedly end up in prison--and after all that he had really done for Gotham as batman Gordon could not bring himself to do that to him.

He steeled himself as the plane landed in Fortaleza.

* * *

Bruce was flabbergasted when they arrived in the largest walk-in closet he had ever seen. Rack after rack lined the walls from floor to ceiling (a ladder was needed to reach the two topmost racks). More dresses of every make, color, pattern and style lined the walls than Bruce had ever seen before in his life were hung neatly within. The closet seemed to stretch back miles.

"And this is only for her dresses." John said excitedly as he walked throughout the racks with purpose. "I found a whole other closet full of shoes!"

Bruce looked around suspiciously. He couldn't help but wonder what lesson exactly John had in mind for him. John continued to prattle on as he searched through the closet, though what precisely he was looking for Bruce had no idea. At long last he returned, his arms piled high with dresses. He dumped them on the floor directly behind Bruce.

"What are you doing?" Bruce asked and John only looked up at him and smiled before pulling his shirt over his head and starting to undo his pants.

"John!" Bruce exclaimed and attempted to swat his hands away as one would an errant child. John only grabbed his fingers and pressed them against his naked chest, squarely between his nipples and on top of an old and gruesome looking scar. His pants fell to the ground and pooled about his ankles. It took all of Bruce's resolve not to look down.

"You need to lighten up, Bruce." He said slowly before stepping out of his pants and kicking them up into the taller man's face. During Bruce's split second of distraction John picked up a leopard print tube dress from the pile and shoved it over his head. He giggled maniacally as Bruce fell backward, trapped within the dress. With almost acrobatic grace he jumped on top of him and they landed directly on the pile of dresses he had thrown on the floor. He smiled innocently down at Bruce, who glared at him heatedly.

"Is that what you wanted to teach me?" He mumbled and John nodded emphatically with several bounces. It was in mid-bounce that Bruce felt a pair of relatively heavy balls slap against his thigh. The realization that John was naked and straddling his thighs sent sparks of interest shooting through him. His cock twitched as thin fingers traced the outline of it through his slacks. He successfully stifled a moan and John frowned. Before Bruce could blink the man was standing before him, his arms crossed contemplatively. He stood stark naked, leaning against a particularly sexy black evening dress. His pale skin contrasted starkly against it and his scars seemed to glow. Sequins which had fallen off one of the gowns glistened in his thick nest of hair. Several more had caught in his pubic hair and Bruce could hardly politely avert his eyes.

"You're still not smiling." John pointed out sadly and before Bruce could respond he was being dragged by the feet out of the closet and into the main bedroom. His arms were still bound in an almost vice-like grip by the dress and John was still stark naked. Once let go Bruce settled on the bed.

"I'm going to go pick one!" John said and in a flash had disappeared back into the dress closet. Bruce blinked. Every time he came to the conclusion that nothing else could shock him, John seemed to prove him wrong. It was almost as if the man had an alarm in his head that went off every time Bruce settled into some sort of mental normalcy. Needless to say, laying in a dead drug lord's bed in a dress while he waited for a cross dressing joker to give him humor lessons was something that he had never quite thought his future would entail. The irony of the entire situation was not lost on him and it almost caused him to crack a smile-

The closet door opened and out strode John. He wore a black knee-length cocktail dress. Bruce could not decipher the mechanics of it, but the dress somehow managed to give him a very effete figure. It clung to him like a glove and Bruce wondered if it was natural that a man should look so right in a dress. His hips even seemed to sway as he walked across the room to the vanity. He seemed perfectly at home as he started rummaging through the drawers and taking out various tubes and bottles. He ran some sort of gel through his hair, patting it down and pulling out some of the curls so it hung longer before stopping abruptly. His eyes widened and his mouth contorted into a silent scream. Tears suddenly started to pour down his face. He silently trembled.

Bruce slowly inched off of the bed and toward him, ripping the dress as he fought to free his arms. It fell to floor as he walked to stand beside John, who had buried his head in his arms. Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" He asked silently and John closed his eyes as he raised his head. His entire body was rigid as he ran quaking hands over the smooth planes of his face.

"It's just…it's—well, it's like this…" He trailed off and placed Bruce's hands on his forehead and moved them along the sides of his face. His lips quirked uncertainly. "When you said that I looked perfect…"

"I meant it." Bruce said and knelt a little closer. His arms were wrapped stiffly about John's upper body and his chin hovered just above his shoulder. John's eyes shot open as his breath tickled his neck and he looked into the mirror in earnest for the first time in years. He looked up at his own reflection shyly, through is eyelashes and while he tried to focus on himself he couldn't help but look at the man who awkwardly held him, afraid to move that last tender tenth of an inch. John wished more than anything that he would. He wanted him to do it on his own; however patience had never been one of his stronger points. He quickly leaned back in the chair and for a split second Bruce held him—only to right the chair and quickly step away. He looked incredibly embarrassed. It was as John inwardly remarked on Bruce's need to 'lighten up' that he recalled why he had taken him there in the first place.

"You're still not smiling." He supplied weakly, in an attempt to return some levity to the situation and Bruce smiled just as unconvincingly. John shook his head and started taking more colored tubes and tiny pots out of the drawers of the vanity. "Before we leave this room _I will _get a giggle out of you." He warned and Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"I've never _giggled_ in my life." He said and watched as John started to methodically apply some skin tinted goop to a triangular sponge. He scooted aside on the small wooden bench before the vanity and Bruce took the hint. While the two of them could barely fit on the bench John did not seem to be bothered by this in the least.

"We'll have to change that then." He intoned and as Bruce turned to face him he attacked him with the foundation coated sponge. A stripe several shades pinker than his skin was swept across his left cheekbone and was soon joined by a swipe of bright red lipstick and a blotch of some unsightly purple powder, which turned half of Bruce's entire bottom lip an unnatural shade.

"Stop!" He growled and John dropped the pink lipstick he had been brandishing like a sword to the floor. To say he looked sheepish would have been an understatement. Bruce felt guilt stab at him as the blonde took his full bottom lip between his teeth and clasped his cosmetic stained hands in his lap. His eyes were fixed on the floor and his eyelashes fanned out across his sharp cheekbones.

"Oh, fuck it all!" Bruce groaned as he picked up a large brush, swiped it indiscriminately through some of the open cases of eye shadow and haphazardly swiped it along John's chin.

"Now you've got the idea." John said softly only to dump an entire case full of loose powder on Bruce's head. He laughed as Bruce rose from the chair, a cloud of peachy powder trailing behind him. Once Bruce could see again, all out war ensued.

* * *

Jess: I was able to do it because I didn't actually edit any of them. And what do you think of his intentions and methods?

AN: Well, I've decided to go in a different direction. My M.O is generally do now, wonder why later. So, tell me what you think. Sorry about the long wait. Since all of my friends either have summer birthdays or are leaving for college I've been going to Birthday/Goodbye parties almost every night and you DO NOT want to see the kinds of things I write when I'm hung over.


	17. Chapter 17

It was worse than chaperoning a dance at a junior high school. It was worse than watching animals in heat. It was worse than chaperoning a dance for sex-starved teenaged rabbits during mating season.

Alfred could not believe his eyes. He watched as John, who had hiked up his dress in order to properly pin Bruce to the floor, took the front of his shirt in one fist and tore the buttons from it. As the forgotten buttons flew across the room he smeared gaudy red lipstick along Bruce's chest with his lips. His deft tongue traced the exposed collarbone before starting to feast on his neck, which was stained blue. He nibbled methodically between swipes of brown mascara--

Alfred attempted to look at anything else. He turned his eyes to a monitor as faraway as possible, where a leafy green houseplant sat in an empty room doing absolutely nothing of interest. The sound of more ripping fabric reached Alfred's ears and he turned his attention to another monitor where another leafy green houseplant sat in the corner of another tastefully decorated yet empty room. This plant was just as much of a troublemaker as the first and Alfred despaired as a moan and steady knocking rang in his ears.

His vision grazed the monitor in passing toward the door just in time to see John's red bottom lip disappear between Bruce's lipstick stained teeth as his frantic hands wormed their way beneath-

"Dear god!" Alfred cried as he rose from the chair so quickly that he knocked it over. "That's it! I don't care if he kills him! I can no longer watch-" It was then that it occurred to him that the knocking had suddenly stopped. He quickly did a once over of the cameras only to find that a man was being let into the house. Alfred minimized the current screen and maximized the screen on which the butler conversed with a brown haired man and led him to the sitting room used for guests. Alfred cringed. He could recognize that mustache anywhere.

"Gordon!" He put his head in his hands as he thought about his options. While he would have loved to ship the joker back to Arkham on the first flight back to America, he simply couldn't do that to Bruce.

"Mr. Alfred!"

_Yes. You can wait until he kills him in his sleep. Then he'll really thank you- _

"Mr. Alfred!"

_But Bruce will never forgive me. I've never seen him so happy be-_

"Mr. Alfred!"

_Why so serious? _

Alfred sighed as the voice of the only servant who spoke any English sounded from the other side of the door again.

"An old friends is here to see you! A Mr. Jim!" Alfred's eyes travelled to the screen on which Bruce and John were entwined of their own volition. Suddenly an idea occurred to him and he was surprised at his own deviousness. Already starting to school an innocent façade, he opened the door and followed the servant to the sitting room, where an almost twitching Gordon awaited. Alfred could not believe that he was about to actually do this.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Bruce looked down at the panting and multi-colored John he momentarily froze. _What the hell am I doing? _

"Touch me."

_What? _

Suddenly his hands were brought to rest on a soft and firm ass.

"Touch me." John growled.

Bruce obliged.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

"I must admit, you were the last person I expected." Alfred said smoothly as he sat on a divan across from Gordon. "Would you like some tea?" He didn't wait for the man to answer. "Celso, two teas." He said to the server waiting outside the door and the man immediately exited. "So then, why are you here?"

Gordon's eye twitched.

"Not to be impolite, but unless it's absolutely necessary I wouldn't want to disrupt their holiday."

"H-holiday?" Gordon stuttered and Alfred pretended to remain entirely oblivious.

"Yes, of course. Three year anniversary, you know. So, what happened that brought you all the way here? Is it terribly urgent? I certainly hope not. I would hate to ruin their fun."

"F-fun?" Gordon's voice raised an entire octave.

"Yes, young love you know."

------------------------------------------------

Bruce cried out as John sank his teeth into his nipple.

-----------------------------

"If this is just an anniversary get away, then why all the secrecy? It's not unheard of for a wealthy man to take his girlfriend on a vacation." Gordon intoned as tea was brought. As the men sipped at their tea Alfred contemplated telling the man this next bit while he was drinking. It certainly would be funny to watch him spit it all over himself.

"If I explain this to you, will you stop your snooping?" Alfred said with a small innocuous smile and Gordon nodded eagerly. "Well, you see, Bruce is a very private person…" Alfred trailed off, and Gordon took another sip of tea. "…and while he has his frivolous public life, he likes to keep what is really important to him close by and rather far from the public eye." He waited until Gordon just pressed his lips to the cup. "And so does Jude."

Almost on queue, Gordon not only spit out his tea but dropped his cup. His rather impressive mustache dripped with tea which fell in tiny droplets to the already soaked floor and glinted on the broken china.

"I'll go get them, since it seems so important." Before Commissioner Gordon could protest Alfred was already at the door. "Stay right here." He said brightly before shutting the door behind him and running toward the room he knew them to be in. He almost got lost, but found that all he had to do was follow the ungodly noises. Without preamble he ripped open the door, and covered his eyes with the back of his hand. Were his eyes opened he would have seen John rutting wildly against Bruce's leg as Bruce left claw marks in his shoulders.

"Stop!" Alfred called and John stopped in mid hump. Bruce's gaze darkened considerably.

"Commissioner Gordon managed to track us here." He said and while Bruce looked furious a rather Joker-esque smirk overtook John's make-up stained face. "I told him that you and _Jude_ are lovers taking an extended holiday to celebrate your three year anniversary."

After rearranging himself as best he could and only managing to smear around the make up which had been caked onto him and further mussing his wild hair, Bruce stood up. "So what, now we have to go down there and play it up for him?" He almost growled as he gently helped John up. The man primly began to straighten out the wrinkles in his dress.

"Should we seem worried?" John asked with a conspiratorial grin, taking to the act with enthusiasm. Alfred nodded. John smirked. Bruce frowned. "This is almost _toooo _perfect!" He exclaimed gaily before grabbing Bruce's hand and dragging him across several halls and down several flights of stairs.

* * *

andaere: Oh. NZ and Disneyland.....You poor, poor thing you..... :P glad to hear from you again. Especially with the end being in only a few chapters.

A/N: Yep. You heard (read) right! The end is almost upon us! I had a bout of inspiration and finished IATST. Let's hope I have a bout of inspiration for posting and editing soon too. That would be convenient, eh?


	18. Chapter 18

After the joker incidents Jim Gordon had come to the conclusion that nothing could shock him. Then the Dent incident had happened. However, he had not been shocked by anything since then.

When the ever polished, suave, and seemingly celibate Bruce Wayne walked into the parlor with his shirt hanging off of him, his hair a wreck ,his lips swollen, and covered in make up and kiss shaped bruises Gordon almost had a heart attack. It was when he noticed that he was holding hands with a coltish and almost pretty younger man wearing a slinky black cocktail dress (who was similarly disheveled) that he legitimately had one.

He watched with wide eyes as they sat on the sofa and Jude entwined himself about Bruce, who rested his chin on top of the smaller man's head of lustrous blonde hair. Alfred sat nonchalantly on an adjacent divan.

"Something terrible must have happened for you to have come all this way." Bruce said, obviously worried, and Jude began to rub soothing circles on the top of one of his cosmetic-stained hands. "What happened?" He asked.

Jim Gordon had absolutely no idea what to say. He had come almost expecting to find The Joker and Batman theatrically trying to kill each other on the rooftops of Fortaleza while the joker snickered and spouted his twisted philosophy at an increasingly enraged caped crusader. Upon finding only a gay Bruce Wayne and his incredibly horny transvestite boyfriend shacking up in an out of the way mansion, he really had absolutely no idea how to justify his visit. He averted his eyes as Jude sent a particularly lascivious look in Bruce's direction.

"Well, you see…" He began only to trail off into nothing. After several minutes of watching him sweat in a satisfied silence _Jude _started to laugh rather prettily.

"Oh dear! Alfred told us all about this! You're that police officer who thinks that Bru is Batman aren't you?"

Gordon cringed outwardly as Bruce and Alfred cringed inwardly.

"Well, while he is very tall, dark, and sinister—I would have to say that he isn't crazy enough to run around such a dangerous city in a rubber suit! I mean, with the lunatics you've got running around—"

"Honey, Gotham is perfectly safe—"

"Oh no it isn't! I've heard all kinds of terrible stories—"

"And would you believe the papers over me?"

Jude seemed to mull this over. "Actually, he might just be crazy enough!" He said with a little laugh and the incredibly uncomfortable looking Gordon chuckled thinly.

"Well, actually, I came to—"

"No need to pretend!" John admonished with an amused smile and a languid wiggle of his finger. Bruce could barely contain his calm façade. He didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

"Not to be rude, but now that you can see for yourself that Bruce is not your Batman—"

"Unless you have a legitimate reason for stalking me." Bruce interjected archly and John rolled his eyes.

"Don't mind him! But, if you would kindly…" John did not finish because he did not have to. Gordon rose stiffly from his chair.

"Well, I'm sorry to have bothered you. Enjoy the rest of your holiday." Gordon muttered, his mustache twitching, and practically ran out of the estate.

Bruce felt as if he could faint. While he could not believe what had just transpired, John seemed perfectly at ease.

"I think we've killed him." He said matter-of-factly, the feminine note his voice had taken in Gordon's presence gone in an instant. Bruce's head spun to look at him.

"What have I just done?" Bruce put his head in his hands and John elbowed him gently in the side.

"Nothing that I'm sure you haven't done before."

Bruce raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Well, he doesn't know that you were the Batman. You've been putting on an act for years. You should be used to it by now."

Bruce blinked. He had often wondered if John knew that he was the batman. While he would have to have been beyond oblivious not to come to that conclusion, he had never given any indication that he had.

John's eyes narrowed slightly. "How could I not know? Who else had the money and the time with which to find me? No one else besides the batman would have even tried so hard to try and find me in the first place. Only he could have killed _her_."

John tried to take Bruce's hands and the man abruptly flinched. John growled and grabbed them. Bruce still would not look at him and John turned the larger man's face toward his so abruptly that his neck cracked.

"I've known who you were since the day I crashed that fundraiser for Harvey Dent." He said darkly and smirked as Bruce's eyes widened and his face paled beneath the garish dusting of powders and smudges of this and that. "I love how no one else noticed that Bruce Wayne suddenly disappeared at his own party!" He chuckled darkly. His expression was almost maniacal. "And those men of mine, those men you left _alive_, when you disarmed them had absolutely no problem identifying you once they came-"

Before John could blink Bruce was gone. Alfred sat on the divan, a feeling of perverse triumph working through him as John smirked to himself and cocked his head in a familiar fashion. However, this feeling dissipated as the man's eyes misted over and suddenly he looked regretful. He wound his arms around himself.

"Alfred." He said so suddenly that the aforementioned man almost jumped. "You're pretty old, right?" He asked and Alfred wanted to be offended, but he could barely wrap his head around the man's seamless transition from camp, to sinister, to angst-ridden, to child-like.

"For now." Alfred replied coolly and John nodded. He then, without a word, rose from the couch and started to pad out of the room. The air hung thick as Alfred watched him disdainfully. It only intensified as John abruptly stopped at the door and turned to face the older man. He looked conflicted and utterly lost.

"T-thank you." He choked out with a stiff nod before dashing out of sight.

Alfred leaned back against the loveseat he sat on and started to rub his temples with the tips of his weathered fingers. He looked searchingly upwards for a while before peeling himself off of the sofa and stumbling out of the room.

* * *

idkk: thank you! I love him too.

andaere: butlers are a shifty bunch. You don't even know. I can't believe this is almost over either. I've enjoyed it immensely as it's the only remotely fluffy thing I've ever written. There might be some PWP one shots at random times after this is over though as I'll be working on a REALLY heavy fic and will need to balance myself out.

AN: Lost 17 pounds! Hurrah! I'm well on my way to being the biazzare, bony creature that I was born to be.


	19. Chapter 19

It had been a long three days. Bruce had not seen or heard from John at all. He had walked to his room twice, only to raise his fist to the door and let it fall limply back to his side. He heard him passing by occasionally, or even speaking in Portuguese to the house staff, but he had not seen him.

It had been a tumultuous three days of contemplation over both his feelings and the entire situation. He could not pinpoint why exactly John's declaration had bothered him as much as it had. It had to have been the delivery. That flicker of…

Regardless, Bruce had come to several decisions. He only had to inform Alfred and John. He was preparing to go hunting for the latter in order not only to discuss what had happened, but what he wanted to happen, when three sharp knocks sounded on his door. Half-hoping, and half not, he opened the door to find a resigned-looking Alfred standing outside of his door. A rolling duffle bag stood behind him.

"You're leaving." Bruce said; a strange hodge-podge of emotion swirled within him as the older man nodded.

"I'm going back to Gotham. I will keep things in order until you come back." He said stiffly and Bruce nodded.

"I'll keep in touch." He replied. Alfred swallowed deeply.

"I just have to ask you one thing." He began. Bruce stood silently, waiting for him to continue, although, he had a feeling of exactly where the conversation was headed. "Rachel—she…you must realize—"

"Alfred—"

"Save him if you must but it is beyond me how you can bring yourself to touch—"

"Alfred, I—"

"How you can possibly rationalize this! Do you have a death wish? Is that it?"

"Possibly."

"Well! That's just bloody lovely! Marvelous! Spectacular!"

"And what exactly do you expect me to do after all that's happened? Settle down with one of those gold diggers that doesn't have a clue of who I am and hangs on me like a cheap coat? White picket fence? Get old and fat and useless? Live a usual life from here on out and die like I'm just another oblivious silverspooning asshole!?" Bruce cried. "After all that I've done, and seen, and all that's happened—I just can't do that."

"That is understandable, but isn't there—"

"I gave up everything for everything else's good. And before they could even ask I did it again—"

"He might need you now, but soon enough he won't. You're kidding yourself if you think he'll be your helpless little doll forever. It's only a matter of time." Alfred said emphatically and Bruce leaned against the doorframe.

"I know." He said softly and Alfred's anger dissipated at the sad look on the younger man's face.

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know…" Bruce sighed and Alfred held out a hand.

"Good luck." He said and Bruce looked at the proffered hand quizzically only to embrace him tightly. His hug was returned.

"I'll keep in touch." Bruce said again and Alfred nodded before grabbing his suitcase and heading down the hall.

Unbeknownst to them both a distraught John had sat in the surveillance room watching their entire conversation. He sat on his hands as he rested his head against the desk and stared unblinkingly at the opposite wall, not particularly seeing it.

* * *

andaere: Gave me a chuckle. And the really heavy fic is The Respite of the Fall, my sequal to A Reason to Fight. I was having a depressed month when I drafted it. Together they are a novel length Harry Potter fic in which I basically rewrote the entire end of the series to fit my perveted and mood-swinging whims. And as you have been with me since LAAIACD, you know all about these whims and how far I am prepared to follow them. haha.

idkk: I love you too, hon. haha.

AN: Ha ha ha. He he he. I'm the laughing gnome and you cant catch me. Cantate domino cante cum novum. cantate domino omnistera.......... Saw Pineapple Express last night. Great movie. Love James Franco. He's so hot. Feeling random today. Had college interview today. Charmed the pants off of my interviewer. (Not literally of course. would be v. unproffessional). Scared the shit out of my parents. I don't think they've ever seen me be charming before. lol. They couldn't believe it as usually I just walk around the house naked and yell at anyone who interrupts my process or tells me to put on pants. I played her like she was some oldschool nintendo. Had her giggling like nothing I ever hope to see again. Too bad I don't want to go to the school. No energy there. It's a fucking flatline. Nobody interesting. Would be bored. Hate being bored. Like coffee though. Like that lady, even though she was a bit of a tool. If I asked her to go home and count all of the spoons in her drawer she'd probably do it. Got eleven of my friends to do it yesterday. Try it. Just sound like you mean it. They'll do it. People are like gardening tools. Only a plough can't count spoons. Wow, I think I need to lay off the coffee. But seriosuly, call up your friends and ask them to count the spoons in their silverware drawer. talk them into it and don't explain why. I bet you that they will do it.


	20. Chapter 20

While a long hot shower by no means solves everything, Bruce had to admit that it made one feel a hell of a lot better about their situation. Somehow, being pelted for almost an

hour with near scalding water had made everything seem that much clearer and he had emerged from the spray boneless and content with a firm plan in mind. He knew precisely what he was going to do and while he was not quite ready to delve into the exact intricacies which would explain **why**, he knew _what _exactly he was going to do and that was enough to appease him. Without even bothering to towel off, he shook his head rather like a dog and padded nude out of his bathroom and into his bedroom. He stopped in his soggy tracks upon finding John sitting on the edge of his bed.

He immediately began groping madly for a towel or something to cover himself with. In the process he dripped water all over the carpet and eventually manage to find an old beltless bathrobe. "How did you get in here, the door was locked?" He asked as he held the robe closed with one hand and came to stand before John.

"Forced the lock open with some folded paper. It's old and weak." The man replied emotionlessly as he threw a few folded pieces of paper that had obviously been ripped out of the same book on the floor. His voice was flat but his eyes were burning. "Should I leave?" He asked and before Bruce could finish spluttering John was bitterly clearing his throat. "Are you tired of me? I would be if I were you. You just want something to take care of, _hmmm_? Well, why don't you just get a cat then and stop screwing with me!" Bruce was silent. "I mean, if you won't do it because you're afraid once set loose on the streets I'll start blowing up boats and robbing banks again—you're wrong. I can be grateful. I'll only do what I need to survive. And I don't need much. Simple tastes, you see. _Very_ simple tastes—"

"John, stop!" Bruce exclaimed "Where did you get the idea that I want you to leave from?" John scowled.

"I heard you talking to Alfred. I think you've forgotten that I'm not _stupid_."

"Listen!" Bruce cried and then began to barely ghost his fingers along John's cheeks, and chin, again that last tender tenth of an inch was all the separated their skin. "I don't…" He began as the pad of his finger accidentally brushed the very corner of John's lips. "I don't want you to leave." He whispered and his hands fell. John grabbed them and held them out. He seemed to study them with both his eyes and his own fingertips, as they traced every bony protrusion and sharp hollow. "So, stop being so melodramatic." He finished even more softly as John's lithe fingers began to trace over his slim wrists and up his lightly muscled forearms.

"Even when I'm better?" He asked skeptically. "Even after you've _fixed_ me." He intoned and his hands grew still, his head was cocked to the side and his mouth was drawn into a taut line.

"I doubt I'll ever be able to do that." Bruce said with a dry chuckle which John only half-heartedly joined in on.

"I know." He said almost sadly and let go of Bruce's hands only to slide them beneath his robe and onto his chest. One hand slid directly over his heart, which sped up slightly at the contact. John smiled. "Promise not to go four days without talking to me, especially as long as we share a house?" He asked quietly and Bruce pressed a feather light kiss against his temple.

"Absolutely." He replied and John stepped out from between him and the bed. "As long as you promise to knock, next time."

"Sure, well, good night!" John said before shooting out of the room so quickly that Bruce's head was left spinning. He shook his head fondly before shedding his robe and deciding to go to bed naked for once. After all, it wasn't as if anyone was watching. He had just tucked himself in when suddenly several sharp knocks sounded against his door.

"Come in." He said and John entered looking slightly bashful but definitely as if he was up to something. Bruce turned on the lamp on his bedside table.

"I forgot something." He said, barely hiding his smirk and Bruce raised an eyebrow questioningly. John moved quickly towards the bed with a strange grace, his eyes fleetingly glancing at the robe laying haphazardly on the floor. His grin widened as he stopped halfway across the room. "Something absolutely…_essential." _

"And that would be?" Bruce returned teasingly.

"Well, a good night kiss." He said matter-of-factly. "Why don't you come over here and give me one?" He said with a particularly sly look on his face and Bruce sighed. There was no easy way out and he found that he did not mind.

"Or…_you _could come over _here_." Bruce returned and John seemed to ponder this deeply.

"And _why_ would I do _that_?" He said and Bruce wondered if John was rubbing off on him, as he found he knew precisely what to do to get him to come over there and that he was more than willing to put himself in a compromising position for the simple sake of shock value.

"Hmmm." Bruce tapped his lip several times as if in thought before moving one hand beneath the blankets. He languidly pumped his shaft, allowing the blanket to tent above him and hint at what was beneath while wholly obscuring anything from view. He threw his head back and allowed the blanket to fall down just enough to bare his chest to the light. A low rumble sounded in John's throat.

"I might…just…" He stopped just long enough to give himself a particularly long stroke. A moan he had not intended escaped him as John quickly pulled the blanket off of the bed and the soft material slid against his slightly engorged member. He suddenly froze. John's eyes were zeroed in on his erection.

"Well, I'm here. Make it worth my while." John spoke sharply and left no room for argument. Despite his initial awkwardness Bruce was soon lost to sensation. He writhed as his nails scraped lightly at the underside of his shaft and his other hand tugged at his balls. The precum leaking from his thick cock proved to be decent lubricant.

"Slower."

John suddenly whispered and Bruce felt his warm breath against the shell of his ear. He shivered as against his own volition his pace slowed.

"I've learned about all sorts of nasty things on the internet over the past few days." John said breathily. "And we are going to do every one of them."

Bruce moaned.

"How would you like me to do it? To have you? To own you? Like no one else can?" Bruce suddenly felt lips pressed against his ear. "To _fuck _you." He hissed and as Bruce felt John's teeth sink into his earlobe he came with a howl. He exploded, leaving himself and a small bit of the mattress sticky. Unmindful of this, he lay boneless as a naked John crawled on top of him. His hard erection pressed against his thigh.

"You're perfect." John breathed and Bruce gasped as a slick finger suddenly entered him and John's tongue swept from the very tip of his spent sensitized cock to his hole.

_Am I ready for this? _

"Perfect."

Slowly and precisely the finger moved in and out. He felt himself stretching and before he could even think another finger was added. They twisted and searched within him, seeking as nails scraped along his innermost thighs and teased the hairs there.

_Am I ready? _

Suddenly, lips were nipping at his throat. He turned his head to look at the man ontop of him. His dark eyes were smoldering as yet another finger began to twist within him.

"John? I—" _Oh! _

His eyes fluttered shut and his back arched as sparks shot through his body.

"Yes?" John asked with a small smirk and just as Bruce parted his lips to speak he drove his fingers into the very same spot. This time a moan escaped him as John pounded his prostate with his fingers again and again and again. It was not long before Bruce knew he needed something significantly larger.

"More!" He demanded at last and let out a cry loud enough to shake the walls as he was filled for the first time.

* * *

andaere: Did you ask them to count their spoons? I got twenty six people to do it. Turns out people tend to do the things I tell them to do and because its me they dont even ask why anymore. Turns out I kind of scare people. Never realized how many spoons people have. It's actually kind of astounding. I kind of want to count my own spoons just to see.

catincanada: Hey, he might not be a homicidal maniac anymore, but you can't beat the devious out of people (Well, you can but that's a whole other discussion). Trust me.

idkk: I know. it's depressing. I've only ever found one decent B/J fic on here.

A/N: A Holy Palmer's Kiss ladies and gentlemen.


	21. Chapter 21

Jim Gordon sighed happily as his hands carded through his wife's hair. It had taken a while for him to make it up to her, however nearly two years had passed and Barbara had never been one to hold grudges. He had actually been happy to put the whole batman and joker business behind him. It all had proved to be a tremendous strain.

He was so deep in thought that he hardly noticed when his wife changed the channel from some melodramatic cop drama to the nightly news.

"Did you hear about Bruce Wayne?" She asked through a yawn which in turn made him yawn.

"No."

"There are pictures of it on aol news. Someone recognized him and took a picture of some dark haired man using him as a pillow on the airplane with a cell phone camera. It's spread all over the internet. It's kind of cute actually. It looks like they are reading together. It's the first picture I've ever seen of Bruce Wayne where he doesn't look like he's vogue-ing."

Gordon felt his fists clench automatically and thought about whether it would be worth it to have a conniption.

"That's nice honey." He said softly and instead turned his attention to important news.

"No one seems to know who the other guy is, but I would bet that he's from around the Mediterranean. He's dark as anything. Makes Bruce look white as a ghost." She said with a small chuckle. Her eyes sparkled with the TV's shifting light and Gordon leaned over her and stole a small kiss. She sighed. All was right with the world.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"God, the news is depressing." Alfred said as the story of a hit and run which left a little girl in critical condition finished on the nightly news. He abruptly changed the channel. He was eagerly anticipating Bruce and John's return. While he wasn't particularly excited to see the latter he had come to accept it. After all, nearly two years had passed and Bruce was not only alive, but almost disgustingly happy. Bruce had kept his word when it came to keeping in touch and he sent e-mails as well as pictures almost monthly. Alfred couldn't deny that they seemed to be doing wonderful things for one another.

However, after John had bought a camera as an impulse buy and discovered his love of obsessively photographing things, the majority of the photos were of blurry trees, unsuspecting people he had snuck up on, and Bruce's thumbs. Bruce's e-mails were always cheerful and the few decent pictures he did receive made him smile. His favorite of all of the pictures had to be the one he had received Bruce had snuck up on John and taken one as payback. John had been brushing his teeth at the time and spit toothpaste all over himself and the mirror. He had the most ridiculous look on his face.

Their flight from Heathrow airport would arrive in exactly fifteen minutes and he was expecting them home by midnight. However, the last thing he was expecting was to hear Bruce Wayne's name on the TV. Let alone on some trashy gossip show. Alfred turned his attention back to the TV and turned up the volume.

The theme music from Indiana Jones started up on the TV and the show's host (a rather weasel-y looking man in an outdated suit) began to speak in an overly dramatic voice.

"After nearly two years abroad adventuring," he began and a cheap and poorly animated sequence involving Bruce Wayne's head on Indiana Jones' body swinging on a rope through a horribly drawn stereotypical stone temple played. Laughter that sounded like it came from a track but was supposedly the audience sounded in the background. "Bruce Wayne is returning to America."

Alfred got a sinking feeling as the host paused dramatically and the bizarre Jones-Wayne hybrid swung into a plane.

"He's supposedly spent millions on paintings and sculptures, but that's not all he's picked up in Europe." Scandalous 'Ooooooh's' sounded from the supposed audience and Alfred's throat seemed to fall through his feet.

"He's picked up an actual Italian!"

Alfred's eyes widened as a picture of Bruce and John sitting together in the first class section of an airplane flashed across the screen. They had pushed up the armrest between their seats and were sitting pressed comfortably against one another. An impossibly tan John (who with a deep tan, long chocolate brown hair, and dark eyes did look quite Italian and also quite mysterious) was discretely holding his hand between where their outermost pant-leg clad thighs touched. His head lay on his shoulder and Bruce's head rested on top of his. While Bruce had a slight tan he was positively white next to John and not even his slight stubble made him look half as wild. Bruce was holding out a book with one hand and they seemed to be reading it together.

"Ciao Bello!" The sleazy host said with a horrible Italian accent and an effete flip of his hand. The factory-produced guffawing started up again and Alfred nearly threw the remote through the television.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Bruce looked down at the sleeping John he couldn't help but smile. Travel always seemed to knock him right off of his feet. He debated whether he should go through with his plans or take John directly home. He had wanted to take him to a small diner he had frequented at night after becoming batman was no longer possible. He knew all of the servers there by name and thought that it would be a great place for John to have his very first milkshake. After all, what was more quintessentially American than a milkshake at two AM?

The strange looks he and John had been receiving also had him worried. He had supposed that someone would recognize him and word would get out, but he had not expected it to happen so quickly. He quickly whipped out his phone as the familiar sights of his home blurred by outside of the car. He took out his phone and texted Alfred.

_Keep an eye open_

He sent, knowing that if anything important were to happen Alfred would no doubt contact him and was probably already surveying the city from the penthouse and watching the news. He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and pulled it out. The neon sign of the small homely diner he was taking his…_John_ to waited in the distance as he quickly peered at his phone.

_Cut tonight short_; it read and Bruce frowned. He looked at the gorgeous face of the peacefully sleeping man whose body had limply fallen against his and shook his head.

"I don't think so." He said aloud with a small grin and John's eyes fluttered open.

"You say something, love?" He muttered sleepily, his accent slightly and unconsciously warring between French and Italian from the few months they had spent in Corsica. The car came to a stop.

"We're here." Bruce said and John perked up slightly, all though he was decidedly sluggish. Bruce was already out of the car and waiting by the open door as John finished rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning.

"Come on, you lout." Bruce teased laughingly as he extended his hand into the car. Instead of reaching for it John crawled forward slowly and pressed the very tips of his lips against the knuckles.

"Maybe later." He drawled with an over-the-top seductive grin. Several tendrils of dark hair fell into his darkly gleaming eyes. Relying on his self control, Bruce quickly yanked him out of the car and into the parking lot, which was almost empty.

"You better watch your language, there are ladies in there." Bruce said as he gestured toward the diner with one hand, his other still holding onto John's.

John looked like he was about to respond with something clever, when suddenly all of his mirth was replaced with a look of contemplation. He looked at all of the tall buildings which glowed with false light in the early morning's dark. He thoughtfully pressed his fingers to his cheek.

"It's surreal, being back." He whispered and Bruce squeezed his hand. "I wish I had my camera on me." He looked wistfully at one of the newer buildings, a distastefully bent modern thing that Bruce found utterly ridiculous and John found visually fascinating.

"There's always tomorrow." Bruce replied quietly and John turned to face him. He nervously ran his fingers through his dark locks before a small genuine smile that was more in his eyes than in the curve of his lips seemed to set him alight. With a new found spring in his step he led Bruce toward the tiny diner.

FIN

* * *

idkk: If I had a dollar for every death threat I've ever received I might actually be able to buy a machine that could ressurect Heath Ledger so Nolan could put together a decent next installment. But, you see, John really isn't submissive by nature. That's why he went nuts in the first place. That is often what breeds sociopaths, nihilists, anarchists, serial killers, sadists, artists and all sorts of fun folks. It's a longing for dominance and control that you can't find in life. That you want and that you crave and that you need, but you can't have.

AN: Thanks to everyone that reviewed, alerted, favorited, and read. Especially to you entertaining people. I love the entertaining folk. They stave off the boredom. I know I warned that this would be fucked up in the beginning, but it looks like I lied. Hope you enjoyed it. Please leave your reactions. Even if you've never reviewed before. If this made you think or feel anything, take five minutes and put it down for me. Otherwise. I WILL find you. I know I promised some slashy fluffy porn one-shots, but those won't be happening for a while. If I tried it now they would probably entail Bruce milking john like a cow, branding him, and then making him crawl around the house naked with a bell around his neck shouting "moo". Does that make sense? No. Would I do it? Definitely. It's hilarious.

I'm an architect. I need bodies,

L-'sA


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